


Nodus Tollens

by Schlemiel



Category: Dragonborn - Fandom, Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Miraak - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Miraak x dragonborn, Miraak x f!dragonborn, Miraak x last dragonborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 11:12:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5002543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schlemiel/pseuds/Schlemiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nodus Tollens; n. the realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore—that although you thought you were following the arc of the story, you keep finding yourself immersed in passages you don’t understand, that don’t even seem to belong in the same genre—which requires you to go back and reread the chapters you had originally skimmed to get to the good parts, only to learn that all along you were supposed to choose your own adventure.</p><p>Miraak x female Dragonborn romance/smut. Tiny bit of humor here and there, but mostly a serious drama about Miraak and DB coming to terms with one another's existence and their feelings for one another.<br/>I maybe dropped DB's name once, but otherwise I never drop her name or describe her so you can kind of morph her image into what you want her to be, like your own DB.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Liberosis

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for initial dubcon (not until chapter 3). Wasn't gonna post this til I got a lot further in the story, but seeing as how I've come to a writer's block I decided I should post it now so maybe I'll get motivated to write further. 
> 
> Each chapter name is a word that has some deep meaning that at least vaguely applies to the chapter. Most words found in the dictionary of obscure sorrows. All definitions and foreign languages (dovahzul) will be posted in the foot notes of the chapter. 
> 
> Review is welcome, as long as its polite!  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a chapter necessary to read, but it establishes the thought process of DB and a bit of background so the story makes a bit more sense.  
> 

     Skyrim wasn’t meant to become home. The coldness bit her lips and the peoples’ eyes lingered on her blood before anything else. That was the first thing she noticed from the moment she awoke in a haze on that carriage to where she stood now. Many people whose heritage was home to Skyrim thought themselves above someone who wasn’t. And even though she too was half Nordic, she still felt the piercing stares of her kin--if she would audacious enough to title them as such--as if they were waiting for her to prove her blood. She herself felt that sting sometimes; an archer that preferred to stay in the shadows to hunt and hurt in silence was not the famous title of the great Nordic warriors, and the enviously powerful magic of bretons was not in her favor either.

     Skyrim wasn’t her destination; but maybe it should have been. She had been travelling from Cyrodiil to High Rock, but she overestimated her abilities and eyes unfortunately found her when she tried to sneak through the border. She should have known to travel through a more remote region, despite the dangers that would come along. Her arrogance bettered her, and she found herself knocked out by an Imperial guard and awoke in the cold clutches of Skyrim. Even though her Nordic blood would shelter her from the cold, it still stung from the unfamiliarity.

     And then the dragon attacked, and then she was speaking with Parthurnaax, and then she was in Sovngarde, and she was Dragonborn. And with plenty of experiences on the side, some darker than others, she was now just twenty one years old but had done enough for a life time. But clearly the world wasn’t done with her yet.

     If she thought Skyrim was unfamiliar and even more unforgiving to her, she was mistaken. The ash scratched her throat and stung her eyes. Solstheim was riddled with either ash or ice and hardly anything in between. Not only was the land cruel, but the people were odd and ignorant. Not several hours after she arrived and she had the privilege of witnessing an aspiring mage attempt levitation only to see him fly into the air and hit the ground to his ashy death. She had been on Solstheim for half a year now, searching for the Black Books and cleansing stones; and although years ago she never thought she would miss Skyrim, she longed for her home horribly.

     She had sent Serana home to Skyrim. Reluctantly, and not without several arguments between the two; but eventually she left as commanded. Both of them knew that what she was about to do was going to most likely end in some horrible, twisted way, and now she felt more alone than ever; sitting in the tent with the sparks of a fire pit and listening to the ocean’s waves. She just hoped her friend was okay.

     She was alone; and yet she knew that she wasn’t. She could feel him; she found herself looking over her shoulder as if she were expecting his form to stand behind her. So calmly he would stand when he stole her soul; a tall posture and his hands clasped over the head of his sword, usually with an arrogant, almost mocking tilt of his head. She could never see his eyes. She didn’t know if she wanted to. She was already growing fearful enough to face him, even if she refused to admit it to herself, and she would tell herself over and over again: _he wants to kill you._ He wants to hurt you. He wants to destroy everything you swore to protect. _He brought this on himself_.

     At first, those thoughts were brought on with nothing but pure hatred and anger. She felt the burning that those feelings brought whenever she thought of him. Her fingers still clutched into a white grip and her teeth ground against each other when she truly thought of who he was and what he’s done. But after half a year of growing hatred, she now sat in the tent, knowing it was all about to end.

 _But maybe there was more to it_. The thought began to grow in her mind and was now like a festering wound that wouldn’t stop itching. And truly, a wound was the best way to describe the thought for when she began to contemplate his existence she found herself growing hesitant. Hesitance brought on for too many reasons. But with her curiosity growing and her ignorance fading, she realized that he, too was wounded. That’s why he was doing this to her. For him, killing her was the only way to free himself; to heal.

 _But what an asshole_. Perhaps it was their shared blood, but even the smallest of taunts, verbal or not sent her into a fuming rage of hatred. She swore that if he weren’t in his ethereal form any time he stole her soul, she would have killed him long ago.

     It was this constant battle in her mind. She _hated_ him. She wanted him dead. But there was something in her that felt sympathy for him, something that made her second-guess the idea of killing him.

     She sat still. Her arms wrapped around her knees and her hood pulled over her head as she stared into the fire sparks. Staring at the burnt out pit didn’t make her eyes feel any better, but she had been at Solstheim for so long that the sting in her eyes was hardly noticeable anymore. She was wondering if Miraak was watching her right now. She was wondering if he was dreading the moment she opened Waking Dreams as much as she was.

     Finally she looked down to her feet, the toes of her boots sunk into the ashy grass. She reached up and rubbed her eyes, although upon arriving at Solstheim she quickly learned rubbing her eyes just made them feel that much worse. She lied down on the fur pelts that she piled above the ground, saving just one to cover herself with. She once had a sleeping sack she would rest in, but quickly discarded that when she would wake up with it full of ash and dust.

     She found herself fidgeting with her fingers as she lied, staring up at the peak of the tent. Still, the thoughts wouldn’t leave her. She forced herself to close her eyes, trying to take her mind off of it. She rolled onto her side and began to think of Skyrim; her home and what resided there. She missed Serana, and the Dawnguard. She always thought that fortress was so beautiful. She even thought of Shadowmere; the only good memory that came from her time as an assassin.

     But in the back of her mind, she wouldn’t stop thinking about it. The book was resting in her bag that was pinned between her back and the tent wall. A part of her wished that someone would steal the bag and the book with it, so maybe she wouldn’t have to do this. But eventually, after long moments of pondering, sleep found her, even if peace didn’t.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liberosis: n. the desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone.


	2. Opia

      The past week, she’s found herself waking up and not having the luxury of a morning haze; that sweet moment where she’s not entirely awake--not entirely thinking--and in a peaceful state. Instead she has just opened her eyes and any thoughts that subsided when she fell asleep (if she were lucky enough to not dream about them) resumed. She clutched the fur that she laid on and sighed, closing her eyes for another brief moment. She shifted her stiff body into an upright position before running her fingers through her hair and rubbing her face.

    She crawled out of her tent, scanning the area for any threats she’d have to take care of. She saw nothing; just the rolling waves of the sea and the barren grayness surrounding her. It was still almost completely dark out; the sun had not yet shown itself over the horizon but the sky was beginning to grow a light, green tint through its veil of clouds.

    She knew better than to delay. It would only make everything worse if she put it off any longer. She roasted a hare leg and ate a few berries before she clasped her armor on. She drew her long hair into a bun to keep it out of her face and chewed on a mint leaf to freshen the awful taste in her mouth from sleeping. Grabbing her bag a hoisting it over her shoulder, she stared at her campsite. It was probably the last time she would ever see it, but she made her peace with that long ago.

     The journey to his temple was aggravating to say the least. Snow and ash mocked her lack of balance and awkward stumbling. But her journey was longer than it should have been. Her path avoided the Skaal village, even though she has a large respect for Frea and their people, she knew that she would never be able to face them again. They offered a bed, food, and company. Maybe it was her pride or guilt, but she didn’t accept any offer and instead camped out in the wilderness. Guilt was eating away at her from every corner.

     By the time she reached his temple, it was just barely dawn. It was cold like Skyrim but here it was horribly dry as well. She had sacrificed her preferable armor that protected against blades for armor that would protect against the weather.  

     The aura of his temple radiated an otherworldly power, something forbidden. It made her uneasy. Her power was being rivaled, but what made her feel so vulnerable is that even she would admit her power was being rivaled by something far greater, and far more ancient.

     Disregard was taken to the reavers chipping away at the temple’s towering columns, mindlessly muttering Miraak’s chant that she had grown to memorize. The unease that came with his temple only increased as she made her way down the steps towards the Tree Stone, ominously enveloped by a moving, green mist. Hesitance was brought with each of her steps, as were her conflicting thoughts.

     Journeying always helped ease her mind, though. She was too busy checking behind her shoulder, to the sky and now into the ground for a threat, whether it be a creature, person, or the weather. Focus was needed to survive, and that is why she delayed so heavily.

     She stopped moving when she heard the sound of a flame igniting. First she looked to the ground to see if she were standing in any oil, but her eyes instead quickly found a cultist running towards her at full speed, arming themselves with a ball of fire ready to be shot at her.

     She grunted out of irritation more than anything; but maybe killing one of his cultist rats would fuel her hatred and force her to complete the task needed. She whipped her bow out from behind her back, pulling out an arrow with it and smoothly gliding it into place before aiming, firing, and watching it shoot through the cultist’s shoulder. Blood could immediately be seen, but all it did was stumble him. But it stumbled him long enough for her to properly aim and kill him with another arrow.

     She stared at the fallen, bloody body for several moments longer, waiting for any movement. When she saw none, she looked around for any other cultists. Shaking her head, she mumbled under her breath and turned to walk down the steps to the temple’s doors.

     She pressed both hands to the door and shoved. It took far more strength than she cared to admit, and she almost cursed Miraak because if he were truly watching her, she could only imagine his arrogant laugh.

     The temple was worse on the inside. It was certainly Nordic, and would draw attention on an island home of dark elves. But the energy wasn’t what she would call Nordic. The temples in Skyrim all felt like they belonged there, but Miraak’s temple was home to a far greater, demonic power.

     Despite only being in the temple twice before, she already knew her way around it well enough. She didn’t delve too deep into the cavern, but she found a secluded, hidden corner that she sat in. The temple had been cleared of draugr and cultists already, but the comfort of shadows made her feel safe. To die by the hand of a novice cultist fanatic as she was facing off the greatest and most dangerous opponent yet in an infinite daedric realm full of forbidden knowledge. The idea made her scoff.

    She sunk into the wall nook, awkwardly swatting away any cobwebs with an arrow and a series of disgusted and fearful grunts. After making herself as much at home as she could, she prodded around her bag. Her hands darted through the potions until she felt the rugged, chipped edge of the book. She pulled it out and held it on her lap for a lingering moment as she studied the design, running her fingers along the dusted, rugged edges.

     But first, she looked up at the temple; illuminated gold by the small flames from the candles, and a crooked dragon skeleton hanging above, staring down at her with its threatening teeth. She wondered if this would be her last sight of the real world.

    Waking Dreams was opened. It wasn’t soon after that the words began to shift and the thick, green tentacles erupted and wrapped around her neck. She couldn’t feel them actually around her neck; but she could feel the force that they brought, as if they were going to shove her face into the paper.

     And with a blink of an eye, she was sitting against a wall and staring up at green ribbons in the sky and dark, intricate walls with papers and books impossibly stacked against them. The black water bubbled far beneath her and papers spiraled in the distance.

     She groaned in discomfort. There was no wind here. The air was right in between cold and warm, and was neither humid nor dry. This place was so empty, and so barren even though there was a universe of knowledge here. Despite its horridness, she would still admit to prefer it over the Soul Cairn, a place she would never step in again.

     And now it wasn’t only Miraak’s eyes she felt on her. She didn’t know which was more discomforting, his or Hermaeus Mora’s. She forced herself to stand up and looked at her surroundings. It was simple right now; a platform, and far in the expanse of the black sludge she could see a tower that stood taller than any other building she had seen.

     Creeping forward with slow, silent steps made of caution, she looked to the sky, then to her left, to her right, behind her, forward, and repeat. Ahead of her was another book made of interchanging words and runes, waiting for her to indulge. She looked ahead to the top of the tower, tentacles apparating from both the sky and black sludge. It didn’t take her long to know that on top of that tower was where Miraak was; she could see the forms of two dragons circling it, their roars just barely audible. That made her groan. Right, she thought. Of course he has more than one pet dragon.

      Apocrypha boggled her. She would open the book, blink, and she was somewhere else. Chapter two was clearly far more intricate, and deadlier as she quickly learned. Seekers crept her out; the idea that they could have once been a person at any point of time now turned into this mindless shell, made only to serve Hermaeus, made her resent Apocrypha, but resent Hermaeus even more.

    _“Laas Nah Yir_ ,” she whispered, barely speaking. Pinpointing seekers was difficult when they were invisible and moving erratically, but her voice helped. Despite being monsters, apparently seekers had keen eyesight; she would be as quiet and small as possible, hidden in the darkness but many times they still managed to find her. Their green, shocking waves stung but she wasn’t entirely sure of their purpose; however the green orbs burned and damaged her.

     Lurkers were different. She hated lurkers even more. They scared her, and fear wasn’t something she felt lightly. From the knife like teeth to their dorsal fin, the way they stomped about and puked green tentacles on her did not gain her approval. She was far more sneaky around them;  taking her time, taking her patience. Shooting an arrow, hiding for several minutes until they subsided their search, then shooting another one until their health was low enough for her to reveal herself confidently.

     She tried to use as little of arrows as possible. She was nothing more than novice at any magic, and other than her bow all she had was a dagger strapped to her hip.  She kept to the dark. To the shadows. That’s what she knew best, what she was most comfortable in.

     She didn’t bother taking any of the items from Apocrypha, except for a fire storm scroll and a few soul gems that she thought may come useful considering magic may as well be her worst enemy despite being half breton.

    Climbing through her last journey of Apocrypha left her with several bleeding wounds, not as many arrows as she wanted, and a decreasing confidence. She walked down a tall, darkened hallway with a growing limp. In front of her was a flat, open platform, and ahead a word wall. She just stood there and looked up with a groan, knowing what she was going to do. A flat, open area with nothing but a word wall. She was certainly about to feel the breath of a dragon soon.

     Killing two more seekers, she limped up to the wall. It was different than the word walls in Skyrim, but everything was more sinister here. She almost threw herself against the wall, leaning her shoulder against it and allowing herself to rest as she took the word in.

     Armor. As it always was when she learned words, she could feel thoughts that were not her own, and feel the brazen power run through her veins and fill her with a unique adrenaline she only received at these moments of knowledge. 

     After the feeling subsided into a pounding headache and a tingle through her body, she pushed herself off of the wall and turned around, looking to the sky.

     “Do it,” she hissed, more to herself than anyone else although she knew that at least one of them was listening.

     There were no mountains for his roar to echo off of, and the power that came from the raw, unbridled sound startled her enough to drop her bow and cry out. Sahrotaar swooped down low enough for the gust of air from his wings to throw hot dust in her face, before being conflicted with a whirlwind of ice shooting from his mouth in front of her. It was a threat. A challenge.

     She quickly regained her bow back into a stance and readied it, waiting for him to come close enough. “ _Joor zah frul_!”

     She still held her arrow steady and felt a small surge of satisfaction at Sahrotaar’s distressed and surprised snort, his wings fumbling for a brief moment before he spun his trail around back to the platform.

     Before Sahrotaar landed, she could feel the frost begin to radiate from in between his teeth. But she took a deep breath and spit out in a mighty voice,  “ _Gol Hah Dov_!”

     Her voice clashing against his, she was met face to face with the dragon. His breath turning into nothing more than a cold chill running over her as he stumbled onto the ground, his nose just barely a foot from her face as he stumbled into place.

     She could see the swelling aggravation and embarrassment in his dark green eyes as he snorted air in her face, just waiting for her to make a move because he was unable to.

     Her only reply was pushing the palm of her hand against his nose, which made him snort even louder.

     “Hail, thuri,” he spoke to her.  “Your thu’um has earned mastery,” he snarled to her, his lips curling up and revealing his teeth; many of which appeared to be broken.

     “Take me to him,” was all she said in a guttural tone, hissing through her teeth.

     Sahrotaar just barely tilted his pale head to the side in what she assumed was an involuntary gesture. Neither of them broke eye contact as she walked around the side of him and climbed aboard just below the base of his skull.

     Her balance wobbled horribly before he was even moving. Sahrotaar was different than any other dragon she had seen, and with no horns to grab onto she just firmly held her hands on the reaching ridges of his brow. Sahrotaar seemed to take as much amusement as a dragon could with her impeding failure.

     When he began moving, it was even worse. She firmly grasped his scales, which were also different; they were far smoother, smaller, and shinier. His entire being reminded her of a snake. His wings pushing them up with great power and his finned tail thrashing behind him, they took off into the sky.

     “Miraak is stronger than you believe. It is likely you will meet your fate here,” the dragon called out to her.

     She only closed her eyes for a brief moment at the thought. She clawed into Sahrotaar’s scales as she thought of Miraak ruining Skyrim; she knew that he had the power to be a tyrant that nobody could stop if she did not succeed in killing him. In the back of her mind, however, the thought still lingered; maybe he was still a person that needed salvaged. But as she sat bleeding, flying his pet, she wanted to kill him even if it was just out of revenge for all the harm he inflicted on her body and mind. It clearly wasn’t limited to just her, either; aside from the reavers, townsfolk and cultists, he even had the power to bend several dragons to his will for thousands of years. Such power would not be easily matched.

     She thought of when she was in Sovngarde. It was so much more different than Apocrypha; even with the dark taint of Alduin cursing it, the realm felt so much more lighter and pure. She remembered walking down the path, full of courage but not without fear. As she stepped from the mist, she was faced with Alduin; standing right in front of her, staring down at her with rubies for eyes and blood staining his teeth. He said nothing to her, just stared for lingering moments in silence. But he then took off and flew out of sight, without so much as a word or even a growl. But she could see a fierce determination in him she had never seen before, there was a fire in that dragon’s eyes and that was what scared her the most throughout that entire experience.

     Knowing that she could command Sahrotaar to attack for her, she did so. Even if a few seekers and a lurker would bestow little harm upon the beast, she wanted him to be as wounded and weak as possible--it would make it easier for her. It didn’t take long for Sahrotaar to obliterate the creatures as if he had done it a thousand times before--which he probably had but through another’s command.

     As he flew towards the summit, she attempted to heal herself with a restoration spell. Even the simplest spell was somewhat tricky for her, despite it being so easy. Although she managed to close the wounds and stop them from bleeding, they still ached with pain. The pain most likely would have been taken away as well had she had enough time, but before she even realized it she was at the summit.

     “Sahrotaar,” the voice growled. “Are you so easily swayed?” he said from below, but it certainly brought her to attention.

     She didn’t even hear Sahrotaar’s reply, completely disregarding it as she stared at him. Still standing tall, calmly gripping his sword with both hands and tilting his head as he watched them. His arrogance intimidated her.

     Sahrotaar landing snapped her gaze away from him. She took no hesitance climbing off of the dragon, stumbling and using him for support as she did so. But she finally turned and faced him.

     It was different. She felt that mixture of rage, hatred, and sympathy overcome her once more. She had faced him in person once before, almost half a year ago when she was first summoned to Apocrypha, but even then it was hazy, it still felt like she was seeing him in a dream. But now she could feel him, standing in front of her with a threatening gaze hidden behind the golden mask that reflected the green waves of the sky. She could feel him, and she could feel his power.

     “No,” he murmured, raising his chin up ever so slightly. “A proper introduction is in order,” he spoke so calmly, each movement just an embodiment of fierce arrogance and shared hatred.

     She still remained silent, watching him with a fiery gaze. She eyed the other two dragons that had now perched on the pillars that surrounded the summit; one a dark blood dragon and the other a brown one. Even if it were just three normal dragons, she doubted being able to face three of them off at once, not to mention a far more powerful dragon that stood in front of her.

     Miraak slowly clasped his hands behind his back, taking a slow step forward. “The first Dragonborn and the Last Dragonborn,” he spoke slightly louder, but still with the same calm confidence, and a fire brewing inside of him.

     There was silence between them. They were both daring each other to speak, or to move first. But she found her mind blank, despite all the curses, hatred and anger she could spout out to him after being forced to hold her tongue for so long, she didn’t know what to say.

     “But I have been here for too long. I am the only master of my fate, and with your soul I will return to Solstheim and I will take what is mine,” he said, his voice slowly growing into a snarl, his body tensing as his own conveyed thoughts clearly provoked him.

     The words stung her for whatever reason, so she just huffed and relaxed her shoulders. Again, just staring; she could feel his eyes on her, and even though he stood some distance away she had to look up to meet his height.

     He was about to speak again, but she couldn’t put this off any longer; she would do something regretful if she did. Snapping her arm behind her, she whipped out an arrow and shot it at him.

     Not only did it aggravate Miraak, but the ferocious roars that came from all three dragons told her that she was going to be in a bloody fight.

     She quickly learned that he was just as powerful, if not more so than she originally expected. Her wounds began to bleed once more with her erratic, harsh movements as she shot her arrows at him. Having to fight off the taunting swoops of the three dragons and snaps of their jaws was preventing her from aiming properly, and many of her arrows were shot into nothing and were forever seized by Apocrypha.

     Ah, but her time as an assassin and early life as a thief taught her how to read patterns well. She was skilled in correctly assuming where they would go next, and picking out the pattern of weapons or powers they used in combat. And yet, with him, she was unable to. He was on the other side of the summit, which was to her advantage because she had arrows; distance was her ally. But even his magic could hardly reach her, and his sword and staff certainly couldn’t. She kept shooting arrows at him, managing to hit or skim him once or twice but the rest falling into the abyss as he studied them in the air and dodged them. For what felt like hours of sore pain and taunting dragons all around her, she would dodge his spells--not always successfully--while shooting her arrows at him that he would almost always dodge; some of them causing him to stumble or even trip for a brief moment in his effort to dodge them.

     And it wasn’t long before he took the dragons’ souls as well. That shocked her; even Sahrotaar, who she originally assumed had at least some sort of connection with Miraak having been what she would consider his personal mount and the only source of feasible contact with another being. It frightened her; seeing him so desperate to destroy her. His power only increased with each soul he took inside, and she cursed all of those times he stole her dragon souls.

     Frustrated at his erratic tactic, she grunted out in frustration and found herself shouting words before she even knew she was. She felt her power surge as the fiery shape of a dragon took over her, and she felt her arm bring the arrows back with even more power and ferocity.

     “You learn quickly, Dragonborn.”

     The way he spoke it; still a taunt, but an honest one. Still, his pattern was unreadable. He would just watch her arrows and then dodge them, hardly bothering to attack her. She could still see the traces of his calm arrogance in him as well.

     She snarled in anger, taking several long strides closer and reaching out for another arrow.

     But her hand fell empty.

     Her mind fell empty too as her expression turned blank; her hand unable to find any arrows because she ran out.

     That was what he was doing. She wasn’t reading his pattern, because _he_ was reading hers; he completely exhausted her main source of power, and he well knew that. In those moments of silence when she first landed, he was studying her; he knew what she was going to do before she even knew.

     Crying out in frustration and fear, she heard the rivalry of his thu’um even though she was too shocked in the moment to read which one it was. But she quickly realized when he was now hardly ten feet away from her, and walking towards her with a powerful stride, ripping his sword from the sheath and with all his power, bringing it down on her.

     In a quick movement she brought out the dagger she had strapped to her hip, which blocked his attack from her although the force of it sent her stumbling backwards. Whether it was his sword or her dagger that cut her hand, she didn’t know, all she knew was that her hand was bleeding profusely and covered her dagger in shining crimson.

     It was a blur of one sided movements; she only had a small dagger made of dragonbone and he had a sword made of the dark Apocrypha magic; wielded by him no less, which she now knew was an even darker force possessed by this realm. Her dagger was just enough to barely block him, occasionally getting the upper hand and slashing at him, but he still cut her several times.

     She heard his thu’um again, the same whirlwind sprint, and in another blur she found herself brutally and painfully shoved against one of the columns and suspended in the air, his hand tightly gripping her throat as he held her there. At least now she was level with him in height.

     He snorted and turned his head to the side, spitting blood from his mouth as the crimson on his cloves smeared over her jaw and neck, although she didn’t know whose it belonged to. However, she was instead far too focused on something else.

     His mask had fallen off. One of her slashes managed to loosen it enough for the shout to let it fall off. She was taken back; staring into his eyes that were almost pitch black, just barely being able to make out dark green irises that would otherwise be undetectable had he not been inches from her face. And that was all she found herself doing; just staring at him. But after no words were shared between either of them once more, she felt that his hand was tight enough around her throat to hold her, yet he was still allowing her to breathe. But she knew. She knew that this was her end, there wasn’t a way out of this where she would win--at least not win alive.

     His lips just barely parted as he continued to sneer at her. The fierceness in his eyes rivaled that of Alduin’s, and scared her even more. He glanced to her lips and parted his own. Still silent, almost saying something but being unable to.  In a single dart, his eyes flicked up past her and stared above her. His grip still tight on her throat and his sword in his free hand, she was still captive.

     She didn’t know what was so curious enough as to break his attention from her, but she snapped from her trance and seizing this one and likely only moment of his vulnerability, she brought her knee up as hard as she could between his legs, which made him cry out through his teeth and drop her.

     " _Gol hah dov_!" she shouted at him.

     As he stumbled back, she pushed him back until she was straddled over his body on the floor. She then brought her dagger up and shoved the blade into his shoulder, not once, not twice, but three times--which was clearly enough to make him stumble back. Shoving him once more, she now had him on the ground, straddled underneath her. She held the dagger to his throat; knowing now that she had the advantage.

     And she brought her dagger up, and with a fierce cry she brought it back down.

     But she stopped.

     The tip of the blade just barely pressing against his skin, she stared at him. He stared back up at her with grit teeth and dark eyes; she didn’t know if he was fully conscious of what was happening. It wasn’t resignation in his stare, but again rather a dare. Not a challenge, but a dare-- _you won’t do it_. You _can’t_ do it.

     And he was right. The dagger clattered onto the ground and she began to cry, her head falling into his chest as she clutched the ground at his sides. He was right. She knew early on the idea that made her feel sympathy for him could possibly be strong enough to stay her blade. And it was.

     She could hear his raspy breaths as he struggled for air. She wasn’t mistaking herself, there was still a battling force of hatred inside of her that wanted him dead and gone, but it felt wrong to do it like this.

     But her crying, which were tears of anger more than it was sadness, stopped abruptly. She looked back up. His eyes were closed, but he was still breathing. She huffed as she looked over her shoulder to see what it was that originally took his attention away from her.

     Whatever fear she felt upon arrival, whatever fear she felt when she was a moment away from her death was taken over by a different kind of fear, a deeper one that she couldn’t explain as she stared up at the black mass of tentacles, eyes scattered but one large one in the middle, all of which staring down at her. Hermaeus said nothing, instead just watched both of them. There were many things that could happen now, all of which no more pleasant than the next. Before she could explain, or even try to barter with the entity, she was interrupted by the drawling, low voice.

     “Hmm, a noble fight, Dragonborn,” Hermaues groaned. “I will grant you the freedom to your...souls.”

     She just stared at him. Souls.

     “But you both belong to...me...and it is only a matter of...mm, time,” the voice quietly but urgently edged on. In a flash of terror she felt a force push through her; a tentacle stabbed into her. It wasn’t the same as when she opened a Black Book; this time she could really feel it puncture her insides. She was devoid of blood--the stabbing did not injure her but she certainly felt it as if it would. Still completely wordless, she looked back down and saw that she was not alone in being stabbed. Miraak still unconscious--but breathing--she felt the same stinging force overwhelm her bones and soon darkness found her.

     But as Apocrypha would have it, with a blink of her eyes she found light blinding her and cold biting at her fingers as she felt the ashen waste of Solstheim beneath her, a golden mask in her hand and its owner lying next to her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opia: The ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable—their pupils glittering, bottomless and opaque—as if you were peering through a hole in the door of a house, able to tell that there’s someone standing there, but unable to tell if you’re looking in or looking out.
> 
> Wasn't entirely sure how to play out the ending--or battle scene at that (which I am bad at writing), but...I did what I could.
> 
> Dragon shouts:  
> Lass nah yir||Aura Whisper shout (detects life forms)  
> Gol Hah Dov||Bend Will shout (bends a being's will, wow!)  
> Joor Zah Frul||Dragonrend shout (forces dragon to land)
> 
> Dragon language:  
> Thuri||master  
> Thu'um||voice


	3. Keyframe

     She just lied there. Everything hurt. Her head pounded with pain and thoughts, both of which just as provoking. Crimson stained her skin and the white powder beneath her. Her armor was torn and her bones ached, her blood felt like it stopped flowing through her and just shook against her skin. But she was just thinking. She was on Solstheim, she could tell by the grey sky, but it was evening, and she was not in Miraak’s temple where she read the book, and was instead just a short distance away from her camp. She was out.

     But he was out with her.

     She didn’t know why. She was unable to remember if Hermaeus spoke to her before sending them both back here, although her abdomen was still throbbing from the tentacle despite there being no real wound. She could comprehend why Hermaeus would have allowed one of them to come back to Solstheim alive--but alone. Both of them? This scenario was so unlikely and impossible that it didn’t even cross her mind.

     But was it her fault? The thought crept up on her. She remembered not killing him--and him not killing her. The reason that Hermaeus spared them both alive without so much as a word bewildered her. She forced herself to stand although not without a series of pained grunts.

     But as she glanced back down to the snow, she cursed herself as she tripped over to his body. Her thoughts were hardly a battle anymore; she now knew that there was no way he could survive and keep everything peaceful, even if she originally had her doubts that maybe he could.

     He was bleeding far worse than her. Why she had to stab that dagger into him three times instead of one seemed quite brash to her now. She also saw one of her arrows broken in his abdomen; which made her groan knowing that even if Hermaeus let him survive, he wouldn’t much longer.

     She grabbed his arm and began dragging him through the snow. It was easy at first at a downhill slope, but when she reached the flatter, ashy shore, she found herself struggling to drag him.

     He was dragged across the rocks, which she imagined couldn’t feel good even unconscious. But after what felt like a an hour, she successfully got him onto her campsite.

     The short endeavor hurt her as well; any wounds she had were now bleeding and her body ached with each awkward moment. Although she had more wounds, none of them were as bad as his. She now stood with her hands on her hips, humming as she thought of what to do next. Healing was obviously not her strong point, but she knew it could very well mean the difference between him dying here or not.

     She propped him up with a groan of exertion, leaning him against a chopped tree trunk and positioning him so he would stay there. She sung her awkward hum once more as her hands danced in the air before cautiously removing clothing from his shoulder to bare the wound to her. With several materials gathered from her tent, she planned this out.

     She groaned and furrowed her brows at how deep she cut him. But she poured water onto the wound, cleaning it of any blood.

     “Be grateful your unconscious, you bastard,” she muttered to herself when she saw his muscles tense at the pain. With another attempt at her restoration magic, she found herself proudly closing the wound enough so that it stopped bleeding and looked far better. After bandaging him, she moved onto the arrow wound, which would be far more meticulous work.

     She could just rip the arrow out and apply her magic, but she didn’t have enough faith in herself to not sever any of his organs and kill him immediately. She knew leaving it in would prevent blood loss, but could easily get infected or hurt an organ.

     But she was taking too long to contemplate and in a spur of a moment just took the arrow out, applied water, magic, and a bandage. It seemed to be okay for now, and it’s not like he doesn’t deserve a little bit of pain.

     She imagined that it would be some time before he awoke. She herself felt dizzy, disoriented and in pain; not just from Miraak’s incessant magic and sword slashing, but it was a unique sensation she was now familiar with after returning from Apocrypha every time. And after being in there for some thousands of years, it could well be days before he woke up.

     But she herself didn’t know how much time had truly passed. It was different every time. Sometimes when returning from Apocrypha only minutes had passed in Solstheim although she was at Apocrypha for what felt like days. Other times, days would pass. As far as she could tell there wasn’t a discernable pattern or connection between time in Apocrypha and Solstheim.

     She now sat by herself, fixing her own wounds. She was far more hesitant to inflict the stinging pain of water on herself than she was on him, but her restoration magic healed the smaller wounds well enough without bandaging. Still, she survived with no more than a bandage around her abdomen and thigh.

     Silence was third’s company. She had dragged him into the tent that she so kindly sacrificed for him and now sat on the tree stump staring out into the glass water that gently foamed onto the ash. Night had fallen, but she had not eaten or rested yet. She just sat there and thought. Why did Hermaues let them both out? What would Miraak do when he finally awoke? How would this all end? She figured that no matter how, the first and last dragonborn’s personal war would have ended at the summit. One of them should have died, and the other one freed. Then it would have been over, but clearly it wasn’t.

     There wasn’t the possibility of sleep for her. Should she be asleep when he awakens, she may not wake up again and it all would have been for nothing. But she was so tired.

     And she was right. An entire day passed and he had hardly even stirred in his sleep. She changed his bandages twice now, but they were healed well enough with her magic that by the time he awoke they would only be a mess of scar tissue. The only time she slept was unintentional, and didn’t even last an hour. She paced around her campsite, walked barefoot in the ocean shore, and killed a burnt spriggan--which she loathed. Before she knew it, midday had appeared.

     She was standing in front of the tent, looking down at him. Lying on his side, his face sheltered by the fur and his body completely still; she thought for a moment he was dead and like she had done several times already, nudged him with her foot to elicit some type of reaction, whether it something like an irritated grunt or something as simple as a twitch of his fingers.

     Seeing as how he clearly wasn’t waking up any time soon, she decided that maybe it would be best if she caught sleep as well. Going to and from another plane of existence was an exhausting ordeal, and she’s done such a thing so many times she lost count.

     Although the tent could easily fit four people, the idea of sleeping in the tent with him didn’t even cross her mind. She just grabbed one of the vacant fur pelts and dragged it outside before collapsing on it. She didn’t have the comfort of a blanket nor a pillow, the sun was bright for once, and she could hear the obnoxious sounds of waves, birds, and trees.

     But of course she had no issue falling asleep. Ever since she arrived at Skyrim she found herself sleeping in dangerous, odd places and by now she had gotten so used to it that she had comfortably slept on a pile of rocks before.  

     Nightmares were a common occurrence to her. It used to be several recurring items; her unpleasant childhood, the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary burning, and the Soul Cairn. Oddly enough, she never had too many nightmares about Alduin and her time as Dragonborn. She always thought that because it was in her blood, it was always a part of her, so she wouldn’t have nightmares about it. She also recalled sleeping for abnormally long time stretches after returning from the realm.

     But ever since her first trip to Apocrypha, even the first time she stepped foot on Solstheim, her dreams worsened to something far greater than nightmares. So vivid, real, and something that could potentially happen.

     This was the first night in a long, long time she had a peaceful sleep. No nightmares or dreams, just silence. Waking up was calm and refreshing, she immediately sat up and opened her eyes to examine her surroundings.

     It was a mostly peaceful night, it seemed. It appeared that a fox may have scavenged through the camp, but nothing bothered her yet. For a moment she sat in silence, staring out at the sea and hoping that she would soon be able to return to Skyrim. But that thought was crushed and her mind delved into a completely different entity when she heard the voice behind her.

     “Laag pruzah, Dovahkiin?”

     She did not need to understand what he said to know there was no friendliness in his voice. It was just another taunt, but the different hostility in it made her go stiff. She was unaware of how long he had been awake, and instead of turning she looked to the sky.

     The sky was still dark. She assumed she had slept for a few hours into the early hours of dawn, but now realized that she had slept for an entire day. She did not know how long he had been awake, much less how long he had been watching her.

     But finally she turned around. He had put his mask back on, and sat on the tree stump behind the extinguished fire pit which gently spewed orange sparks that spiraled in front of him. And there were a hundred things she could spit at him to voice her rage at all the things he did. But she did no such thing.

     “How are you feeling?”

     The answer seemed to provoke him for whatever reason; his fingers tightened over the hilt of his sword and he slightly brought his shoulders back. But he said nothing more to her.

     “Answer me.”

     Silence.

     What gall, she thought. She makes the decision to save his life and yet he has the audacity to not even speak to her--much less thank her. She tried a different approach.

     “There’s food in the tent if you’d like.”

     Silence.

     Maybe she really shouldn’t have saved him. She tried to remember what Hermaeus had said but was unable to. The entire moment was a blur.

     She did not need to look at him to feel the vicious gaze fixated on her. If she assumed correctly, he was studying her again. Looking for weaknesses, learning her design. But so far the only thing she could feel from him was hostility.

     Fortunately for her she was very well rested and would be able to push her limits. She would stay awake for as long as she could to avoid having a sword plunged in her throat. If he wasn’t going to speak with her, then so be it, but she was not about to let him leave. She certainly didn’t prefer his company and would much rather be on the Northern Maiden by now, but she didn’t have a choice.

     But he hadn’t left yet. He hadn’t harmed her. The reason remained unbeknownst to her, however she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the reason. So she silently decided to challenge him; if he was going to try and study her then she would do the same. She wouldn’t allow him to have an advantage over her, especially not in her realm.

     But the next few days proved completely useless. He did not share a single word with her. She was forced to sleep after a day and a half, to which she awoke and instantly pointed her dagger at him, but he didn’t even flinch. He didn’t hardly move from the tree stump, either. Occasionally he would stand and pace, never removing his mask. She asked him what he was pacing about several times, but was still just met with silence. And rarely, he would sit in the tent when the air was particularly ghastly.

     At one point she even resorted to pushing his shoulders when he was sitting to get a rise out of him. But he only just sighed, waiting for her fit to end before he continued to brood.

     He must have been starving, too. He hardly touched any food, and only did so when she was asleep. In result, she had not seen his face since that dreadful encounter in Apocrypha. Apparently, he didn’t sleep either; every time she would see him he was awake, which seemed impossible to her.

     And she gathered nothing from him. She did not understand anything about him. Some time ago she stopped paying attention and trying to figure him out because it has proven useless.

     It had been at least four days since Apocrypha. She now stood in her tent, organizing what little material was scattered in the tent. She took complete disregard to him sitting in the tent, his elbows resting against his knees and his mask pointed down.

     But she was so on edge. This was slowly torturing her. She had been constantly looking over her shoulder this past week in fear of his inevitable attack. Perhaps one last attempt at getting him to speak was at hand.

     She turned to face him, leaning against the table end and staring at that damn mask. “I would really like to get back to Skyrim, so hurry it with your assassination plot.”

     No response.

     She narrowed her eyes. She could attempt doing what she was too anxious to try. She took a breath. “But clearly you don’t have the strength, just like you didn’t in Apocrypha.”

     His fingers curled.

     She almost scoffed at how quick his response was. If antagonizing him was the way to get him to speak, then so be it. “Even with the power of the dragon souls you stole from me, from Apocrypha, you couldn’t defeat me.”

     There was an audible huff, and he stood up.

     She became tense, but hopefully not visibly. One last remark. “How does it feel to be thousands of years old with a world of knowledge at your hands, only to be defeated by a twenty year old girl?”

     Clearly that broke his ruminating facade, because in a flash of movement he drew out his sword and the tip of the dark blade was pressed into her stomach.

     “If you want me to speak, then so be it.” It pressed hard enough to itch, but not to wound her.

     She cursed herself. It was exactly what she dreaded if she chose this route; but hearing his voice was oddly relieving. She didn’t move, but flinched when he whipped out his sword.

     His chest visibly heaved and his grip tightened. “You destroyed everything. Your foolish, naive meddling ruined what I have worked towards for longer than your inept mind could even comprehend, dovahkiin,” he hissed the words through grit teeth, his blade just barely pressing deep enough for a single bead of blood to run down her navel.

     Again, words were going to come out of her mouth but he silenced her with his own once more. “You throw yourself at Hermaeus Mora’s feet in your desperate pursuit of power over me, only to be made another pawn.”

     “And now clearly I have that power over you,” she finally spat back at him, although she remained completely still.

     In another surge of movement his blade was pinned flat between himself and her, his hand around her neck and the other grabbing her incoming punch. She could hear his heaving breaths behind his mask. “You do not know what I am capable of. You do not want to,” he said. With the way his grip tightened and the irate inflection of his voice, he was serious.

     His hand moved up from her neck to her jaw, holding her so that she was looking at the golden slits of his mask that was just inches from her face. “You think yourself above me yet you were unknowingly deceived into throwing yourself into the exact same trap that I fell into,” his voice was still urgent but adopted a regretful tone.

     She stopped moving and stared at him, his hand still firmly gripping her jaw. His body was pressed against hers, his bulk towering over her and making her feel so...small.

     “Must I humble you, Dragonborn?” his voice grew quiet, but no less adverse, with that taunting inclination of his head.

     The look of anger in her eyes was clearly response enough, because he gripped his sword from in between them and instead of plunging it into her throat like she imagined, he slid the blade underneath her shirt and cut it in half.

     She let out a groan of protest and violently attempted to shake her head from his grasp but she felt another hand grab her hip and turn her around, his other now covering her mouth.

     Although she tried to free her head out of his grip, she was not struggling as much as she could have, or would have imagined. If anything, there was some perverse curiosity that was now conflicting her.

     Her stomach was slammed over the single desk in the tent, knocking breath out of her. Both of his hands now hastily untying the strings to her shirt and ripping it off of her and carelessly tossed it to the floor. Next was her pants, but when he reached for her brassiere she quickly reached around and grabbed his wrist.

     Although not reluctant, she was not fully compliant with all of his advances; she found herself too shy for such a vulnerable part of her to be revealed.

     But his hand only ripped from hers and untied the brassiere from her torso as well, tossing it to the other side of the tent. His gloved hands insistently ran up her curves and underneath her to fondle her, his bulk hunched over her and not allowing any squirming.

     “You’re trembling, Dragonborn,” he murmured to her, his mask buried in the crook of her neck.

     Her whimper made him lowly chuckle as his hands caressed her breasts, the pads of his thumbs running over her sensitive buds before one descended further down her body. With his other hand he freed himself from his mask, his face instantly returning to the crook of her neck.

     Such vulnerable contact did indeed leave her a trembling, anxious mess, only worsened when she felt the warmth of his breath against her neck. He rubbed her with two fingers over the fabric, which made her instantly shut her legs and sheepishly sink herself lower into the table.

     He sensed her hesitation and stopped for a brief moment. “I will only hurt you if you force me to.”

     His voice, while holding that calm, smooth tone still had traces of hostility, even if they were momentarily fading. But he did not pursue her further until she willingly shook her legs open for him.

    “Mm, good,” he purred to her, his hand slipping underneath the fabric that protected her modesty and slowly beginning to tease her with two of his fingers.

     Her heart was thumping as she felt his possessive bites line her neck and shoulder, some of them making her whine from the harshness of them. There was nothing tender in his movements; no kisses, no soft grazes, just blunt intentions.

     She heard the rattling of clothes and startled when she felt his thickness press against her. For a girl that stood at hardly 5’3” while he towered over a foot taller than her, she was intimidated as he brought pleasure to himself by grinding his swollen erection against her.

     She began to shut her legs at his advance again, but stopped herself midway to avoid what would surely be his wrath. But she wasn’t entirely against her decision, despite her frantic eye movement and her intensifying tremble.

     She let out a stiff hiss as he guided himself into her, not allowing her time to adjust before he tightly grabbed both of her hips and rammed himself into her, which made her cry out and grip the table.

     “Wait,” she grunted in an airy rasp, hardly able to catch a breath with the way he began to pound into her.

     “I have already waited long enough.”

     His snarl in her ear sent shivers down her body, even making her flinch. But he seemed to take a dark amusement in it, his teeth pressed to her neck. The viciously tight grip on her hips would surely leave bruises, and his teeth would leave marks from her jaw to her breasts; she could already feel them aching.

     The way he was possessively crouched over her, leaving marks on her and ramming into her was almost primal; feral. She did not give him the satisfaction of a moan; the only sounds that escaped her lips were hisses and stifled grunts. But it was clear he was restraining himself although she didn’t know why.

     It wasn’t until she fell silent and her head fell against the desk in defeat. Any tension left her body as she let out a deep breath and just closed her eyes; trying to enjoy it while any resistance she may have been putting up disappeared.

    He let out a low hum of approval in her ear. “You were too weak to kill me in Apocrypha, you are too weak to resist me now. I have always held power over you.”

     She narrowed her eyes, glancing up and meeting the voids of his own eyes before she just forced herself to look away as her body kept thumping against the table.

     His breaths grew uneven and his thrusts more powerful before he shoved himself into her one last time and spilled deep inside her, a raspy groan escaping through grit teeth.

     He leaned over her for a while, staring her down. She tried to convey in her gaze the question she desperately wanted to know: why. But eventually she forced herself to look away.

     After her gaze left his, he leaned in even closer to ear. “I know more about you than you realize, dragonborn.”

     He pulled himself out of her, redressed himself and left the tent without another word, leaving her a trembling, unstable mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keyframe: n. A moment that seemed innocuous at the time but ended up marking a diversion into a strange new era of your life—set in motion not by a series of jolting epiphanies but by tiny imperceptible differences between one ordinary day and the next.
> 
>  
> 
> Dragon language:  
> Laag pruzah, Dovahkiin?||Sleep well, dragonborn?


	4. Aimonomia

_“What can you tell me about him, Parthurnaax?”_

_“Hmm...Miraak. Vax!  The name strikes fear in the hearts of many dov, zu’u faas. You walk a dangerous path, Dovahkiin, rok fen kos hin met.”_

_“Well if I can’t stop him then nobody can. ”_

_“Indeed, that is likely the regrettable truth we face. But I fear his intentions to be much more...hmm, jormaar. Personal. To you.”_

_“Gaas loaan! Tafiir so suleyk! I envy you, Dovahkiin, to be the one with such privilege! Hi kent fun zey puvah!”_

_“I appreciate your faith, Odahviing, even if I do not share it.”_

_“You have slain the world eater, Dovahkiin, hi lost mul ahrk zul do dovah. Miraak holds great power but he is...kroved. Krent.”_

_“I know, I know...but I can’t help but feel...conflicted about this.”_

_“I would be surprised if you did not. There is a zurun grins, a connection between you. But you musn’t hesitate, dovahkiin. Miraak los veistul ahrk tolaak, he will end you the moment he is able to. Even if you do share souls.”_

 

She basked in the warmth of the tent corner, her knees brought to her chest. Her breathing had finally calmed. In fact, she felt much calmer than she had in a long while. At least she now knew what he was thinking towards her, even if it was nothing to what she expected.

But she found herself not asking why he chose that route. Instead she was asking a far more personal question: why did she allow him to? She could have refused, and fought him over it if she had to; yet she found herself intentionally putting up little resistance. At first she thought it was out of fear of the punishment he would inflict if she fought him. But the more she delved into the darker corners of her mind, the more she realized that she did not entirely resist because she did not entirely want to.

It would be an overstatement to say she did want to, but she had always felt some type of pull towards him due to their shared blood, but now was when she was really acknowledging it. She sat and wondered if he thought the same.

But she was too abashed to face him now. She let him use her; it was obvious that he was only using her for his own pleasure and took no regard to her own. And she let him.

She sighed to herself and scooted herself to one of the fur pelts that lied on the floor and lied herself down, grunting at the building soreness on her thighs, hips and back. She lied awake for some time, still contemplating, and pretended not to hear him enter the tent and chuckle at her resentment. He said nothing to her, but it didn’t matter because she was finding a sweet embrace of sleep.

She was right. She didn’t have to see her skin to know that there were two bruises on her hips now; she could feel the sensitivity just by gently pressing her thumb into her skin. She stood up and could see the fabric walls of the tent glowing, meaning the sun was slowly rising above the sea.

Of course, he was already awake and sitting on the tree stump he apparently claimed as his. And for the first time, he acknowledged her presence. It was nothing more than glancing to her through his mask then looking away again, but it was still new.

He seemed to be much more relaxed now. Typical, she thought. But she wouldn’t allow him to have another victory, so she decided to be the bigger one and speak first.

“Will you speak to me finally?” she crossed her arms.

“There is nothing to speak of.”

“Of course there is,” she scoffed. “You’ve hardly said a word to me this entire time!”

“How observant of you.”

His tone remained modulated under his mask, but she was still unable to shake the inimical tension in his being. She wasn’t sure if she preferred this vexing behavior over his brooding silence.

She took several daring steps closer. “If your plan was to seduce me it clearly didn’t work.”

He let out a honeyed chuckle, straightening his posture. “If I were attempting to seduce you I assure you we would not be having this conversation. Mm, we would not be conversing at all.”

She stared at the golden slits of his mask with unnerved disgust. “You’re...foul,” she hissed. “You could at least act grateful for being spared!”

“Your pride is misplaced, dragonborn,” he retorted.

“Why?” she asked.

“Typical,” he snorted to himself, turning his head away before standing. He fiercely grabbed his staff as if he were tearing it from someone’s grip and began to march away from the camp.

She stared at him with fleeting eyes before calling out to him and following him, neglecting to grab any weapons as she frantically paced after him. Neither of them made it far before she reached out and grabbed his sleeve, tugging him and forcing him to stop.

It was not the cleverest idea, for he whipped around with both his sword and staff pointed to her neck, forcing her to lift her chin up.

“ _Dreh ni sahrel zey_ ,” he hissed.

She cursed herself for not understanding dovahzul. Apparently there was a habit among dragons--and dragon _borns_ \--to completely disregard this fact when speaking to her. She looked up at him and lowered her hands. She sighed. “I can’t let you leave,” she said through her teeth.

He snorted and lowered his weapons, but she didn’t understand why. Hidden in the fringe of trees with no one around, disarmed from both weapons and armor and yet he didn’t attack her. In fact he lowered his weapons.

What was he waiting for? If he consumed her soul she would be dead and he would have more power than he knew what to do with with no one to stop him. But a different thought was then raised. As she stared at him,  she thought of his dreadful words that he whispered in her ear the previous night: I have always held more power over you.

In a twisted way, he was right, and she didn’t need to see the grin behind his mask as he saw the look in her eyes upon understanding. She just shook her head. “I am trying to help you.”

He stood there blankly, and without a trace of inflection in his tone he stated “why?”

“That’s a good question,” she replied after scoffing and crossing her arms.

“I do not need your help,” he finally said after his reticence.

But he marched back to the camp, intentionally bumping into her on his way and causing her to stumble several steps back. She turned to watch him disappear into the tent.

She followed him inside the tent. “Then why haven’t you left?”

“Vik, you never shut up,” he mumbled under his breath, turning to face her. He had removed his mask again and she now found herself facing him.

She was right. She never wanted to see his face in fear that it would make him seem so much more human, and it did; even if his eyes were as emotionless and empty as the void, the fact that he was still a person itched at her in an incomprehensible way.

But she demanded an answer. “Tell me.”

He sighed and shook his head. “What you lack in strength you make up for in stubbornness.”

The way he hissed at her made her take a step back. “I’m not trying to argue,” she said through her teeth, her voice wavering. “I just want to know why you haven’t left yet! Or tried to kill me!”

She was too far blind by her emotions to see he had taken several steps closer to her and now stood tall with that dreadful tilt of his head that told her he was analyzing her, and was about to taunt her again. Before he could get anything out, she spat back at him once more, “are you afraid to leave? Are you scared to fight me?” It was a genuine question, but considering he wouldn’t answer if she blatantly asked him why he hadn’t left, she resorted to antagonizing him again.

But as if someone had just slapped her, she shut up, staring at him with wide eyes and realizing what followed after her antagonization. He was already undoing his buckle and was walking towards her, forcing her to step back until her waist hit the desk’s rim.

He stood in front of her, looking down at her with pitted eyes and a crooked grin. “Ah, you learn quickly, Dragonborn,” he smirked, both hands firmly grabbing her waist and picking her up only to set her down on the desk without a care.

“Mm, I can make this enjoyable for you, you know,” he nodded, narrowing his eyes for a short moment, his hands on either side of her. Even with her sitting on a desk and him slightly bent over her, she was still forced to look up at him. There was a sincerity in his voice, but if anything that made her trust him even less.

But apparently the look in her eyes told him otherwise because he proceeded. His hands moved across her armor, unhooking it and dropping it piece by piece as if this was a daily routine for him. For a moment she wondered how he knew exactly what to do, but it quickly dawned on her that he had been studying and analyzing her the past week. For a brief moment she found a twisted humor in it, but it quickly faded when she felt the humid, cold air of Solstheim on her exposed chest.

Her arms quickly went up to shield herself but she was stopped before they hardly left the desk. Their eyes met, hers filled with nerve wrecked emotions and his countering with a determined, dark hunger.

“Why can’t you?” she asked in a sheepish voice, almost a whine.

He debated her cryptic question for a moment. When he saw his momentary confusion, she lowered her brows at how badly stated her question was. But it didn’t take him long to realize what she meant, and when he did he just hummed and went in to bite at her neck, enjoying her vulnerability whereas he had none.

It made her let out a shocked moan, but she quickly suppressed it into silently grit teeth. Soon, however, she realized it was difficult not to painfully moan as he bit on her neck that was already sensitive from his previous session. At one point, he bit hard enough for her to buckle her knees, but he used that to his vantage and wrapped them around his waist.

The way he ferociously moved his hands across her supple body and bit at her soft skin was different than anything she would have thought. It was almost as if he was trying to _really_ hurt her. But she found herself becoming more and more welcome to his advances.

But he didn’t stop his trail of bites. Her legs froze as he ran his tongue over the silky skin of her inner thighs, coming dangerously close to her wetness. He was teasing her; biting just above, next to, lightly running his tongue over her. As she stared at his unbridled focus, she hated to admit that she wanted him to stop the incessant teasing.

She was soon relieved as he ran his tongue over the length of her slit, which made her legs startle. He grabbed her thighs and pushed them to the side, spreading her completely. She was shaking again, she just hoped he wouldn’t remark on it.

Instead, she found herself slowly sinking into the foreign feeling. He lapped at her most sensitive spot, occasionally closing his lips around her and suckling which sent her into a trembling mess. She bit her knuckles to try and refrain from noise, but with the way he insistently licked her made her let out an embarrassingly unconcealed moan.

She could feel the vibration from his delighted hum, which made her lightly moan again. Eventually, she just looked up to the tent roof and shut her eyes, allowing her body to relax and melt into the sensation. It wasn’t hard, and didn’t take long, and eventually she was grabbing at her own breasts and edging him on by running her fingers through his dark hair.

But once she found her volume increasing and her stomach churning, he, to her disappointment, pulled away and left her an eager mess. She began to let out a noise to vocalize her disappointment, but he shushed her.

If she wasn’t aching so horribly for him she would be incredibly embarrassed at what a compromising state she was in; lying on the desk with her legs spread, eagerly waiting for him.

And clearly he noticed and took great delight in it, because as he leaned over her, his forehead leaning against hers, he whispered something in that guttural dragon language, “ _daar los kolos hi engein, yes?_ ”

She found herself only able to stare into eyes, not capable of understanding the language. But as she felt his cock press into her, she let out a broken moan, looking down and watching him enter her.

“Look at me,” he commanded once he was almost entirely in her, filling her and pressing against every inch of her which turned her into a panting mess.

“ _Look at me_ ,” he demanded more harshly when she didn’t comply. The urgency in his voice made her look at him--pathetically, like prey facing its demise. 

He began to steadily rock in and out of her, grinding against the spot inside her that made her wildly moan. It didn’t take long for him to get a much more vigorous pace, which matched her loud, uneven  moans. He grabbed the backs of her knees and pushed her legs up so her knees were almost resting against her shoulders.

The change into such a hot, vulnerable position sent her spiraling. “Don’t stop,” she’d moan as her body slowly lowered further into the desk. It was clear how much enjoyment he was recieving, he too could hardly keep quiet as his growls and hisses would turn into exasperated moans.

She was quick to come, the feeling overtaking her body and causing her to lurch forward in heavy moans. She didn’t even care that it was him--the person who tormented her for almost half a year, tried to kill her and ruin her home, and force her to deal with a daedra lord--was the one invoking the pleasure in her.

Her body was slowly slinking further and further into the desk while he would tower over her more and more. She lied limp, recovering from the intensity while still moaning a barely audible, steady stream of “ _yes_ ”.

He slammed into her one more time, his body hunched over her and staring her down as he came. It was an uneven moan, that sounded almost pained.

He stayed inside of her, allowing her to recover for several more seconds before she finally looked up to him, her chest heaving and her hair a fiery mess.

She let out a sigh of resignation, if anything, accepting how humiliated she would be afterwards. His face was contorted in an odd expression, as if something was dawning on him.

But then, he bent even closer to her, and she thought he was going to kiss her. But he stopped, close enough so that their lips so lightly touched and lingered. He spoke in a voice so quiet and soft she could barely hear it. “No. I don’t want to hurt you, Dragonborn. I want you to submit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aimonomia; n. fear that learning the name of something—a bird, a constellation, an attractive stranger—will somehow ruin it, transforming a lucky discovery into a conceptual husk pinned in a glass case, which leaves one less mystery to flutter around your head, trying to get in
> 
>  
> 
> Dragon language:
> 
> (conversation translated) 
> 
> Hmm...Miraak. Traitor! The name strikes fear in the hearts of many dragons, I fear. You walk a dangerous path, Dovahkiin, you will meet your match.
> 
> Indeed, that is likely the regrettable truth we face. But I fear his intentions to be much more...hmm, personal. To you.
> 
> Filthy deciever! Thief of power! I envy you, Dovahkiin, to be the one with such privilege! You must tell me the details!
> 
> You have slain the world eater, Dovahkiin, you have the strength and voice of a dragon. Miraak holds great power but he is...corrupt. Broken.
> 
> I would be surprised if you did not. There is a strange bond, a connection between you. But you musn’t hesitate, dovahkiin. Miraak is wicked and twisted, he will end you the moment he is able to. Even if you do share souls.
> 
>  
> 
> Dreh ni sahrel zey || Do not tempt me  
> Vik, you never shut up|| Damn, you never shut up  
> Daar los kolos hi engein||This is where you belong


	5. Adronitis

She didn’t even care that she left him alone at the camp. They were out of food and fresh water anyway, so she would have had to leave eventually. She snuck out in the night when she assumed he was asleep, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he somehow knew even in his sleep.

Even though they could have gone another few days without her hunting, she needed to take her mind off things.

Humiliated didn’t even close to what she felt. Any time she thought of how he...dominated her, she found her throat tightening as if she were about to cry or vomit, or both. At first, she believed that there was no way he would make her submit, but she quickly realized that he already had, in more ways than one. From the moment she first learned of his existence.

His taunts. “Thank you for your help,” he grudgingly stated to her the first time he stole her soul. She went into a rage after her short moment of confusion. Spitting vile insults, shooting an arrow through his ethereal form. “ _I’d damn you to oblivion if you weren’t already there_ ,” she spat back at him.

“ _Do you ever wonder if it hurts? Having your soul ripped out like that?_ ” he had asked her the last time he appeared before she faced him once and for all in Apocrypha. She remembered it well. She was in the Rift, and an elder dragon perched on a rock in front of her, verbally challenging her. She always thought elder dragons were so pretty; the way their vibrant, gold scales glistened against the light and brightly reflected the orange flames they spewed from their mouths. This dragon in particular was much more prideful than others, but it ended in his demise.

She learned to anticipate it by then, and she wasn’t wrong. She never saw him actually appear, but she would turn once she heard his voice. Then he asked her the question after absorbing her dragon’s soul. That one stuck with her. She just stood and stared at him sadly, there was no anger in her at that time. She wondered if he noticed.

She shot a hare and picked some snowberries. She could see the shadowed outline of the Skal village some distance away from her, with glowing golden lights veiled by the snow. She could only imagine how the village, and Frea, would react to her decision. It stung to think about it.

The mixture of snow and ash was an unpleasant contradiction. She returned to the camp to find him awake and pacing. He didn’t wear his mask, but his hood shadowed his eyes, only allowing her to see the defined line of his jaw and his lips.

She came to an unintentionally abrupt stop when she saw him. He turned his chin up, his eyes still shadowed but still piercing through her. He gave her an amused smirk at her reaction before resuming his pacing.

She narrowed her brows. “Why do you keep brooding like this?” she said, stepping down into the camp and beginning to skin the rabbits, occasionally plucking a berry in her mouth.

He grumbled something to her, but she couldn’t understand him at first until he turned and looked at her. His eyes were still just barely darkened, but his face was pinned with what looked like teeming rage, as if he were about to drive his sword into her. But when he spoke, his voice was surprisingly quiet.

“What deal did you make with him?”

Her knife against the rabbit stopped suddenly as she stared into the fire’s ashes. She finally looked up. “What?” she asked.

He slowly turned his head to the side. “What deal did you make with Hermaeus Mora?”

She felt a chill run over her and she defensively shook her head. “I didn’t!” she shouted.

He nodded. “Yes you did,” his voice was still soft-spoken, but growing in acrimony.

“No,” she said again. “He...said something, and then we woke up here. Unlike you I’m smart enough to avoid deals of imprisonment with daedra,” she scoffed, crossing her arms.

She expected him to lash out at her insult, but instead he just glanced to the fire as well. She could see the orange light reflected off of his black eyes; it almost reminded her of a vampire. But then she blinked. “Do...you remember what he said?”

He nodded once after a brief silence. “I have been trying to figure out what foolish deal you made with him,” he looked back at her.

“I told you, I didn’t make a deal with him!”

He let out a loud scoff. “Really? So you believe he just let _both_ of us walk out of his imprisonment to live happily and freely? You’re much more senseless than I originally thought,” he muttered.

She shook her head at him. “What did he say?” she felt embarrassed for indulging, but she was dying to remember what Hermaeus said. She always had a hard time comprehending Apocrypha when she returned to Nirn.

Miraak sighed. He looked as if he was contemplating the answer as if he didn’t actually know, but after looking at his expression she realized he wasn’t contemplating, he was debating. He was debating whether or not he should tell her.

“Tell me,” she demanded.

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose with two of his fingers before sighing. “It does not matter. I just need to figure out what he means, leave me,” he said as he began to turn and brood in solitude.

She scoffed. “Tell me and I can help,” she shook her head as if it was obvious. “Or are you too prideful?”

He quickly whipped around and took several steps closer, pointing a sharp finger to her. “Have you not yet learned where this leads, Dragonborn?” he hissed.

She fell silent at his raw threat, unconcealed by any subtleties, stepping backwards.

“Oh,” he said, tilting his head. “But that’s clearly not a punishment anymore, is it? I don’t think it ever was,” he said, the crooked smirk returning on his face. “I would not be surprised if the people of Raven Rock heard you from all the way over here.”

She stood for what felt a long time, trying to think of a response but her humiliation didn’t allow it.

“You’re blushing, Dragonborn,” he purred, knicking her chin with his fingers and clicking his tongue before standing tall and walking away from her.

Her heart was pulsating against her chest and her legs found a familiar stiffness. It wasn’t until he disappeared into the tent that she remembered what they were originally talking about and how he so casually manipulated the topic into something else entirely--a topic that he knew would render her silent for a few hours so she wouldn’t have to face him.

They sat on opposite ends of the fire. He would occasionally prod the sparks with a stick and fuel the flames although they were both plenty warm. She was going to ask why he kept doing such a trivial thing, but she figured it might be just so he could _feel_ it.

 

She sat, hugging her knees to her chest. “So...how long were you in there?”

“I told you to stop asking me that,” he growled. “I stopped counting after a while,” he quietly added, more to himself than to her.

“You  knew Alduin though, right?”

He quietly groaned in frustration, rubbing his face with both of his hands.

“What was he like in his original tyranny?”

Miraak sighed and looked at her through the flames. “Remind me what that phrase about curiosity and the cat is.”

Rolling her eyes, she looked up to the sky. It had been so long since she had seen the stars. They were hidden in Solstheim’s waste. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she had last seen vibrant colors in the sky, or Nirn’s two moons. She looked back down to him. “We should go back to Skyrim tomorrow.”

He froze and skeptically stared at her, slightly turning his head as if he were waiting for her to follow with some snarky comment.

She returned the stare, raising her brows. “I don’t want to be here another day longer if I don’t have to, even if it means enjoying your lovely company,” she trailed off.

“Ah, but you do enjoy it,” he smirked.

“Don’t tilt your head at me,” she grumbled, not even having to look at him to know what exact expression was plastered on his face.

Silence filled the tense air between them, only ambiently filled by the crackling of sparks and ocean waves. Surprisingly, he was the one to break the silence first.

“What were you thinking?” his voice was reticent. When she did her double take at him she realized he hadn’t looked away from her this entire time. She realized he wasn’t asking her in a rhetorical, cruel way, he was genuinely asking what she was thinking.

She blinked, then shrugged. “What do you mean?” she asked quickly, her words slurred together.

His jaw clenched. “You made a deal with him whether you know it or not. You allowed him in,” he spoke as if he was realizing the words along the way. When he stood and took a step closer to her, she quickly stood as well to get ready for whatever he was about to do.

Before she knew what was happening, he had the collar of her shirt gripped in both of his hands and was staring her down. “You hesitated. You wouldn’t kill me. Tell me what you were thinking. _Now_ ,” his voice was a demanding snarl that sent a chill down her cheeks.

“I,” she stuttered, but was unable to follow up with anything. She could sense the impending tone of his voice, so she was staring off into the distance trying to think of an answer--the right answer, that is.

“Tell me!” he belted even louder through his teeth.

“I don’t know!” she replied. She felt her eyes begin to burn and felt a swell of humiliation. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. She refused, but when his grip tightened and pulled her even closer to him she felt a single tear roll down her cheek. “I...I was…”

Her voice trailed off when she remembered the answer. She hoped he didn’t realize it, but she could feel her face sink into realization. She didn’t know if was her expression or her tears, but his grip just barely loosened.

“I...I don’t know. I was trying to…” her head sunk mid sentence, her words coming to an abrupt end. She knew there was no way she would be able to explain without admitting it, but being forced to admit to both herself and him made her cringe. “I was trying to think of a way that we could both get out of there,” she finally said, refusing to look at him. “What did he say?” she asked, finally looking at him.

She couldn’t place his expression. It was angry, but there was still some sort of....concern in it. She was up and personal with him, and took the brief moment to study his face. He didn’t look exactly how she would have expected, although she didn’t know what she expected in the first place. She looked at the scar on his lips, and just shook her head.

Miraak sighed. “He said that he would grant us freedom, but both of us belonged to him and that it would only be a matter of time,” he said the words as if it stung him. There was a long pause before he added, “A matter of time until what, Dragonborn?” he hissed.

“I don’t know! I was just thinking if...we could both get out alive then maybe he could...take us back…” her voice trailed off as she watched his expression melt into...fear? Sadness? A mixture of the two along with anger.

He released her from his grip. He didn’t do it roughly, nor gently, he just dropped her and took an uneven step back.

Fear found her expression and it wasn’t hidable. “What? What?” she said, taking a step closer.

Whatever sadness or fear was on his face slowly contorted to rage. His hands fumbled in the air and he kept moving as if he were about to say something, but only silence came out.

“What happened? What did he mean?” she asked frantically.

“ _Hi hinzaal mal_ …” he began to spew out that damn language with vile hatred in his voice. “Fuck,” he hissed, beginning to pace. “ _Hi lost al pah! Hi lost...hi_ …” his voice kept trailing off into silence clenched in his teeth.

He was clearly livid. She could see his knuckles turning white and his veins protruding from his arms more than usual, his paces uneven but heavy. He would repeat curses and short, bitter phrases in dovahzul.

“Tell me!” she shouted, her voice embarrassingly breaking from sobbing.

“You,” he cut himself of, his fingers curling into fists. She could tell exactly what he was about to call her--a bitch--but he stopped himself. “You gave us freedom, yes,” he spat out to her finally. “But he said it was only a matter of time until we returned,” he said, taking a step closer.

She looked up at him once more, his face inches from hers.

“Hm,” he said. “Have you ever wondered if you get to go to Sovngarde when you pass?” he asked. “Considering you’re only half nord,” he added with just the smallest sting.

The question was unexpected to say the least; for a moment she was dumbfounded he knew took the time to notice she was  only half nord, but of course he would know. She just stared. “I...what?”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t matter anymore,” he muttered.

“What are you saying?” she asked quietly. When the thought crept on her--the possibility of what he was saying, she felt her heart sink.

“You know, I had been debating if I _should_ show gratitude for freeing me. But what does it matter when I am just going to return in death?”

She brought a hand to her mouth, realizing what she had done to  him.

He gave her a smile. “Impeccable bargaining skills you have, dragonborn. You sell us an eternity in Apocrypha after death for a few decades here. ”

His hostile grin only widened when he saw her understand. It looked as if he had just thrown the most vile insult to her, and it wasn’t long before she sank to the ground and began to violently weep.

He pursed his lips. “ _Zu'u fend lost krii hi_. I should have killed you,” he growled before turning away and leaving her on the ground a sobbing mess.

She didn’t even care that he told her he should have killed her. Her mind was in a spiral of what she had truly done in her decision to save him; she damned them both. If she had just killed him--stabbed him one more time, then she could have ended it then and she would be back home happily and he would be free--and that’s what she wanted. She was sobbing hysterically, she had never heard such pathetic sounds come out of her. She couldn’t see through her burning blur, her trembling fingers clutched her hair and she breathed in rapid paces until eventually she fell asleep from exhaustion.

The next few weeks were not pleasant. They were both completely silent for several days. They did not look at each other, they did not speak to each other, not even to insult. After that it was a few sparing phrases hissed, but no dialogue existed. Although occasionally, he would take his stress out on her by pinning her under him, and as much as she hated to admit it she found that in those moments her mind was in a peaceful state as well. There was one point, in one of her crying fits that began to frequently occur as she realized her fate, she accused him of robbing her life. She screamed how much she hated him, how she was trying to help him but obviously couldn’t. But, as all of her attempts, it ended with her being thrown onto a desk.

Sand crept between her toes as she dipped her feet in the cold water. Since he was too stubborn to leave, and she wasn’t leaving him alone, she was unable to leave Solstheim yet. But she stood as close to Skyrim as she could get, even if the water was freezing.

“We should travel soon.”

She narrowed her eyes at his words, but didn’t say anything.

“I, too, would prefer to return to Skyrim.”

She turned her head. “Whose fault is it that we aren’t there yet?”she asked. But she quickly raised her hand to stop him from replying, knowing it would just turn on her.

Why was he suddenly speaking to her so calmly after not uttering a single word to her for the past two weeks? His mood swings seemed to control the temper of their relationship, and it was aggravating.

“It is almost nightfall. Get out of the water before you hurt yourself,” he said.

“Pfft. Seriously? The first thing you tell me is that you’re worried I’m going to freeze my toes off? What do you really want?” she retorted, crossing her arms and staring out into the darkness, the only difference between water, mountain and sky a single difference in shade.

“I want you to stop acting childish,” he said, raising his voice slightly.

She startled at the feeling of his grip on her dress, tugging her out of the water and gesturing for her to return to the campsite. There was a fire pinned in her gaze, but her toes were awfully cold and the fire sounded nice.

The fire was indeed nice as she sat on the fur pelt, wrapped with a blanket. He was sitting on the opposite end, his elbows resting on his knees.

She stared at him. “What is this?” she asked.

“What?” he spoke as if it were a statement, not a question.

“Why are you so suddenly conversing with me? What changed?” she said.

He sighed. “I still hold to what I said, but it was not difficult to accept the truth. And clearly you have been on edge, lately.”

“Really, what gave it away?” she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“You think I don’t understand what it’s like to want to return home?” his voice suddenly adopted a more fearsome tone.

That made her stop and look up to him. Her lips slightly parted as she stared at him, feeling his gaze match hers. “How long were you really there?” she asked, making her voice as quiet and unthreatening as possible.

Instead of snapping or waving her off the question like usual, he just shook his head once. “I don’t know. I stopped counting after a while.”

That answer stung. “Well, how old were you when you first...got there?” she said, unsure of how to phrase the question.

He just smirked. “Older than you.”

His mood was still much lighter than she expected, so she tried to take advantage of it. “What about your mask?”

“What about it?” he said in the same, blunt tone of a statement.

“I mean it’s just...um...it seems influenced by Hermaeus, is all,” she said, doing a poor impression with her fingers of the tentacle-like assets to his mask. “Was it like a normal priest mask or did it happen after your...time, there?”

“That’s a curious question, Dragonborn,” he stated after a while, flicking his eyes to her with an _almost_ genuine stare.. “You seem to have an open mind. Use your imagination,” he said.

For the first time he was allowing her to ask him questions and he was indulging, so she continued. “What about the dragons with you in Apocrypha? I mean, I disowned someone just for _wanting_ me to kill Paarthurnax, but you seemed to just...”

He remained silent for several long moments. “Whoever they once were is gone. There was nothing left of them. And of course you didn’t kill Paarthurnax, hi los sahlo.”

She had learned to disregard the dragon tongue he so often taunted her with. “Then why didn’t you kill them sooner?” she began asking the question before she even realized she was speaking again, and as she finished she realized it may have not been appropriate.

“I did not have any reason to,” he bluntly stated before her sentence even ended.

It answered some of her questions. She always wondered why the three dragons were unaffected by Apocrypha and appeared like any other dragon in Nirn. Durnehviir’s unique aspects seemed to be invoked by the Soul Cairn, but the three dragons in Apocrypha seemed the same. But if Miraak had their wills restrained for so long, it made sense. And the thought of being entirely alone in Apocrypha was probably not a thought easy to digest.

So she just nodded and looked away. After a long silence full of lingering words, she stood up. “We should leave tomorrow,” she muttered with a brief nod. She didn’t take the time to acknowledge whatever his response was and just walked past him into the tent, curling up in a corner and falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adronitis: n. Frustration with how long it takes to get to know someone--wishing instead that you could start there and work your way out, exchanging your deepest secrets first, before easing into casualness.
> 
> Dragon language: 
> 
> Hi hinzaal mal...|| You stupid little  
> Hi lost al pah...hi lost...hi|| You have destroyed...you have...you  
> Zu'u fend lost krii hi|| I should have killed you.  
> Hi los sahlo|| You are weak.


	6. Klexos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. This chapter may not be as good as the others, and does act as a bit of a filler, but I wanted to get something out. This chapter acts to show how patronizing Miraak is and a bit of my character's past. Although I usually try to keep her as vague as possible to people can imagine their own DB in it, I diverted from that a bit. 
> 
> It's been a long time since I've played Skyrim, and usually after around 5+ months of not, I get a very homesick feeling. Typically that means I need to play it. So that probably means I'll be getting deep into another Skyrim phase, which hopefully means I'll be inspired to write more for this. 
> 
> I can't promise anything--I have a super busy summer ahead. But I'll try to get another chapter or two out this summer at least.

It didn’t take long for her to notice how he was inching closer and closer to her each night when they slept. When she blinked her eyes open and found his hazy form facing the other way, several feet from her, she would roll over and fall back asleep. Only when she awoke for the second time, she would see that he had scooted further from her. When she first realized this was habit of him, she felt a small twinge of guilt and embarrassment. 

It wasn’t until today she began debating why she even felt that way when he moved further away from her. She sat huddled over the fire, her mind drifting back to the question. It was clear he disliked her--she knew that from the moment she heard his name. And she disliked him, so why did it bother her that he would move away from her? 

She hardly noticed him sit across from her. Every time she saw him without his mask she could feel heat rush to her cheeks. She only hoped he didn’t notice. After clearing her throat, she began to speak. “There’s a war going on in Skyrim, you know. Imperials, the Stormcloaks. It’s starting to get bad.”

He sat like a statue, his elbows resting on his knees as he gave her the most deadpan stare he could. “Enlighten me more,” he said, leaning back and crossing his arms. 

She blinked and straightened up as well. Explaining it took some time, starting from Ulfric murdering Torygg. She explained both the generals and both sides of the war before sighing with a finalized nod. She stared at him with shuffling fingers, often looking away from his piercing stare. 

The sound he made startled her. It was a chuckle. He actually laughed. It was brief but she stared up at him in confusion as he stared at her with a smirk. “And which side do you agree with?”

“Neither,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “I did my job, I have no quarrel with either.”

“Really?” he said quietly while standing. “You’re no Nord, and by now I’m sure you’ve realized that Skyrim is no home to, well, alien races.”

“Alien?” she scoffed, abruptly standing as well. She turned to face him,who was now standing behind her and towering over her. 

He seemed unphased by her backlash and stood with his hands behind his back. “Because of Skyrim’s vices, it would be safe to assume that an alien such as yourself would take to the company of the Imperials,” he began. “And yet,” he said, furrowing his brows. “As someone who clearly so greatly defend’s Skyrim’s honor and pride, the Stormcloaks may be a viable option for you as well.”

“I don’t take to either! I haven’t had any dealings with their civil war, only arrogant dragons,” she spat at him, balling her fists. 

He narrowed his eyes, the smirk still arrogantly plastered across his face. “But you have, haven’t you? I myself would have taken you to be a Stormcloak, what with your righteous destiny to Skyrim and your...ignorance in the politics that the Imperials are so fond of. But you certainly favored the Imperials at High Hrothgar years ago, did you not?”

Her mouth tried to move, but no words came out. She could vividly remember that night; she had never experienced a worse tension. All sat around the table at High Hrothgar, negotiating terms and holds so she could capture Odahviing. It was the same night that Delphine and Esbern told her she had to kill Paarthurnax, and was consequently the last night she really spoke to them.  
Miraak crossed his arms when he saw her figuring it out. His smirk was gone and his expression contorted into one of anger. “Did you already forget where I was for thousands of years, Dragonborn?” he asked, his voice hushed. “I know about the war. I know about everything, even your little...darker phase.”

“Don’t,” she murmured, blankness spread across her face for a mere second before she made her way back into the tent. “We’re leaving,” she said. 

If she had seen him, she would have thought that there was a tinge of guilt in his eyes for a split second. He watched her hastily make her way into the tent and listened to the shuffling of packing. 

He sighed and followed her in, watching her scurry across the tent and packing things she didn’t even need to pack. He took a step closer and firmly grabbed her wrist to stop her from picking up a broken piece of leather. 

There weren’t any tears in her eyes. She was completely dry. “Let me go,” she said through her teeth. 

His grip loosened but he still held her in his hand. “You should know better than to patronize me, then,” he said. 

“You’re fabulous at apologies, you know.”

He sighed. “Your desire to be some great, perfect hero is misplaced. You need to grow up and understand that,” he said, almost tossing her wrist out of his hand. 

“Just get your god damn things so we can get out of here,” she snarled, starting to move out of the tent with the bag hiked over her shoulder. 

He stared at her and nodded. “Mm, whatever you say, Listener.”

Her reply was instant. She whipped out the dagger strapped to her hip and flung it in his direction, the hilt clashing against golden spikes adorned on his shoulder, a ring resonating throughout the tent. “I really should have killed you.”

“If you’re so good at it, then why don’t you?” he said, his fingers rubbing against the dent in his armor. He stared at her and waited, his fiery gaze not easing off. 

“I’ve had enough of it,” she said quietly, glancing to the floor. Her answer was to many things. She had enough of killing, especially people such as him. There was a connection there, she knew that much, but still had trouble admitting it to herself. She had enough of arguing, enough of dealing with life-changing threats. Dragonborn and Listener. An oxymoron to say the least. 

And when the memories crept across her mind, it could take her days to shake the feeling. The weight that was pushing down on her shoulders, the emptiness in her stomach. She could feel her throat tighten and didn’t know if it was because she wanted to cry or throw up. It was like she could smell the ash and the burning bodies. Festus pinned against the tree, trying to shield himself from the dozens of arrows. Arnjborn still fighting as much as he could; a broken, blood soaked werewolf weakly limping and swiping at the guards until he fell. Gabriella was next. Even the spider she never really liked was dead, its body torn up and tossed in a corner. 

And then there was her friend. So unceremoniously limp on the floor, his swords clattered around him. She had nightmares about him the most. The only person she really trusted, really called her friend in so long. An assassin breton and argonian--quite the deadly, even if obscure duo. 

Maybe it was just her anger. The grudge she couldn’t let go. But she felt nothing towards Astrid but spite, anger, and hatred. The thought made her sad; she trusted her, looked up to her even. But to Astrid, she was only a pawn to further her power. And Lily didn’t even let Astrid finish her sentence before stabbing that damned dagger into her. 

Her times were over, she wouldn’t go back. The guilt of leaving Nazir and Babette alone in that sanctuary hurt her, but she had her own duties now. Even if it meant dealing with another, more dangerous dragon.

. . .

Usually a fast, confident walker, Miraak was walking unusually slow. His arms were crossed over his chest and he kept glancing around the city, the people, even the sky. 

“Anything like you remember?” she asked as they made their way through the stone road. 

“The sky used to be clear,” he said, his voice almost strained. 

There were some things he would say that just made her wince. Maybe he didn’t realize it, but little things he would say to her told her how vulnerable he could be. To be locked away for so long, to not see the sky for thousands of years. She wouldn’t be able to handle it. 

Miraak got a few stares. They were confused and unsure, but some were flat out scared. Even without him speaking, it was like they knew who he was. 

She planned on saying goodbye to Teldryn, but the sight of the boat to leave Ravenrock made her giddy. The thought that she was finally going to return to Skyrim, to her home, to her bed--even to her horse finally sank in. She smiled when she saw it and had a bounce to her step as they climbed on, almost tripping from excitement and earning several remarks about carelessness from Miraak. 

“Are you not coming into the cabin?” Miraak asked when he realized she wasn’t following him. 

She stood on the boat, her hands tightly gripping the boat as she looked to the sea between her and Skyrim. She didn’t reply and just waited, her heart beating. When she felt the boat shift, she sighed in relief. Although unsure of what was going to happen with Miraak when they returned, the more she thought of coming home, the more her tolerance lowered. If he tried anything, she was done. She wasn’t going to stand for anything that would prevent her from coming home, or prevent her from staying there. Even if it meant her death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klexos; the art of dwelling on the past and hoping for the future.


	7. Ambedo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!  
> Sorry for such a long break, I just write this whenever I feel like it which isn't that often. But I promise that I'm not gone-gone, even if such long breaks come between chapters. I will hopefully continue updating, although when I first started it this is as far as I planned to write. That doesn't mean I won't write anymore, but in the mean time I'm probably done unless anyone has any ideas, in which I might add different works or a drabble series.
> 
> Right now, as a return and farewell, have a long, emotional, cheesy fluff chapter with some smut, humor and breakthroughs in both characters! Hope you like it, feel free to message me here or on my tumblr (which I'll give if asked) if you want to talk about Miraak with me!
> 
> NOTE: I've added translations on hovertext over dragon language, but I'm not sure how much it will work. I'll still have them at the footnotes, but hopefully this will help!

Skyrim wasn’t meant to become home. The coldness bit her lips and the peoples’ eyes lingered on her blood before anything else. That was the first thing she noticed from the moment she awoke in a haze on that carriage to where she stood now. Many people whose heritage was home to Skyrim thought themselves above someone who wasn’t. And even though she too was Nordic, she still felt the piercing stares of her kin--if she would audacious enough to title them as such--as if they were waiting for her to prove her blood. She herself felt that sting sometimes; an archer that preferred to stay in the shadows to hunt and hurt in silence was not the famous title of the great Nordic warriors.

No, Skyrim wasn’t mean to become home, but it was. And with each rock of the boat it got colder and colder. But the cold meant comfort to her now and she couldn’t help but anxiously tap her feet on the floorboards in excitement. Sure, they would be arriving in her least favorite city; but it was fall. They would travel from Windhelm to Riften, her favorite journey. The way the leaves on the Aspen trees fell and covered the ground in the colors of autumn, the bright orange sunsets and the cool breezes. The thought made her cry. She was going home.

She felt like a child waking up on a holiday morning. She bounded into the cabin, startling Miraak awake and causing him to reach for his sword that was lying next to him. When he saw it was her, he just scoffed and leaned back onto the floor with a thud, rubbing his face. “Seriously?”

“We’re here,” she said, out of breath. “We’re here!” she repeated, almost kicking her heels as she skipped over to him. She was too drunk on her love and missing of Skyrim to care about anything he said to her before. She bounded over and quickly straddled him, looking down at him with eager awaiting.

He looked at her, wincing with one eye tightly shut as the blinding light came from outside the small windows to the cabin. “Yeah,” he said, covering his eyes with his forearm.

"Well, rise and shine. Come on!"

 _"Nunon vogaan zos javbar..."_ he said, rolling over as if she wasn’t even on him and causing her to fall off of him.

No matter, she thought. She bounded back up the stairs outside the cabin, eagerly awaiting the moment she could step onto the Windhelm docks. The smell of Skyrim’s air alone brought tears to her eyes; it was crisp, cold and fresh. It smelled of saltwater on these docks, the trees brushing together and the mountains of her home in the distance. The sky was covered in a mask of grayness, which she was disappointed in.

But he’d probably still enjoy it.

She was practically falling over the edge of the boat, despite the captain repeatedly advising her to _get off from there, you’ll hurt yourself._ It was like she could touch Skyrim. Her legs trembled. She missed home.

She could sense the presence of Miraak behind her. She looked over her shoulder, pulling the hair out of her face from the wind. He was groggy, awkwardly shifting in his steps to regain himself as he rolled his shoulders and neck. His hair was unusually messy, which she thought kind of laughable because if it was messy now, that meant that he actually took care to keep it groomed; which was a thought she found kind of funny. He didn’t bother putting his mask on, and didn’t even have it or any of his weapons with him. Odd, for him.

He walked to her side and leaned on the edge of the boat after irritatingly pulling his hood up and grumbling something to himself in Dovahzul. Even leaned over, she felt small compared to him.

  
She tried to study his face, but saw nothing. She expected at least something from him after being in Apocrypha for thousands of years. Some form of emotion, gratitude or at least admiration. But he just looked grumpy and groggy.

“So?” she said to him quietly, wanting to tug on him for a reaction but refraining.

He rubbed his forehead. “Windhelm is still standing. That’s commendable. Not as glorious as I remember it.”

She kissed her teeth. “Just admit it’s pretty,” she crossed her arms, gaining an eye roll from him. “You’re not with your weapons?”

Miraak chuckled. “I’m not threatened by these _smahlu," he said with a slight groan to his voice._

__

It almost made her shudder, a chill running over her cheeks. His voice had always been a weakness to her, but a sleepy, groggy voice? She had to shake thoughts from her head she didn’t care to admit.

__

And so the ship landed, and she hopped onto the dock before it was even fully tied up, much to the disdain of the boatmen and Miraak, who naturally scolded her later. He had put his mask on, which she didn’t really like; she wanted to see his reaction to all of the things he was about to see. But at least through the safety of the mask, he’d have one; if he was barefaced he was probably too proud.

__

The first thing they did was go into Windhelm. She was greeted by several people, all of which Miraak just disregarded. He often led her away from the conversation, or in general; and she figured it was because he was too proud to be a follower. He wanted to lead, even if he didn’t know here he was going. Typical of men.

__

They entered Candlehearth Hall and got what was practically a banquet of food. Fried eggs and fish, leafy greens spread all around and roasted chicken and peppers. This was mostly at her insistance, and he ate properly as she expected while she pigged out.

__

"Not pretty, but...admirable of you," he told her.

__

She dragged him around Windhelm despite the fact it wasn’t a city she particularly enjoyed, and after the events of High Hrothgar she didn’t feel too welcome there anyway. She visited the Blacksmith quarters, visited the Grey Quarters, and showed Miraak around like a tour guide before they finally departed.

__

Once out of the hold, Miraak convinced the stablemaster to give them not one, but _two_ horses for free. Whether this was through intimidation or persuasion, she didn’t care to find out and he simply chuckled when asked.

__

She deliberately allowed Miraak to “take the lead” despite the fact that he wasn’t totally sure where they were going. He knew they were going to a safe haven, which was the best he could ask for right now before he got things in order. This safehaven was supposedly the Dawnguard, a faction he thought long dead. But apparently the last Dragonborn was affiliated with them, and that it was the safest place in all of Skyrim. But she had been told that before.

__

She gave him the benefit of the doubt and just told him “to Riften”, which he knew was South from where they landed. Every now and again, she’d imply he was going the wrong way, to which he was begrudgingly go the opposite way--the correct way. He was stubborn and prideful, but not so much that they lose valuable time.

__

What their goal from here on out was, she didn’t know. Right now, she just wanted to go home; and show him her home. So they traveled all day, reaching the mountains of NorthWind Summit that bordered Eastmarch from The Rift. They took refuge on a peak after killing a witch inhabiting a small camp, secluded by trees and off from the pathway.

__

Horse or not, the traveling made her tired. It had been so long since she traveled this far, considering that this was double the distance she had to walk to get anywhere in Solstheim; and they were only halfway there. The two of them were calm and less snappy with one another, and she thought after a long day, maybe he was just as excited to be home as she was.

__

She had already snuggled into the tent. It was small, but he had thrown his stuff in there, implying that he was sleeping in there with her. No scooting away in there. She had fallen asleep almost instantly, the mere joy of being home tiring her out just as much as the walking. She had fallen asleep with him sitting next to her, mask still on and his elbows resting on his knees while he messed around with a conjured flame in his hand. She dozed off to the sound of fire flickering, and the warmth that he provided.

__

. . .

__

__  


She woke up in the middle of the night, she assumed. But it was still fairly light out, and it sounded like leaves were brushing over the leather tent. It startled her for a moment, causing her to awaken and instinctively reach over to grab Miraak to get his attention.

__

But her hand fell empty. After a moment of fear, she furrowed her brows and realized it was just rain she was hearing. Heavy rain, and thunder rolling over the clouds. But Miraak was still gone, and so she lazily got up and gathered herself. She quietly stepped outside, her feet bare and wearing nothing but a loose fitting, white robe.

__

She peeked outside and began to call out for him, but stopped when she noticed his figure in the distance. She furrowed her brows and stepped out, her feet unpleasantly squishing against the wet grass (although, given the previous opportunity of nothing but ash, she’d gladly take this) as she made her way over to him with crossed arms and wet, long hair.

__

She was careful to be silent; something she may actually have more experience in than him. It was pouring rain so heavily that she couldn't hear hardly anything else. But when she saw him, she felt...sad. She knew what he was doing, but she couldn't even begin to relate.

__

Miraak stood on the cliff edge, his mask loosely hanging on his finger by a horn and his hood down. His hair was even more wet than hers, and the rain dripped down his face, back, and shoulders, leaving him soaking wet as if he had jumped in a lake. He didn't speak, he didn't move. He just stood there in the rain.

__

She took a breath and joined his side, gently taking the mask from him. He didn't budge, and she just held it in her hands and studied it. Noticing now, she saw how the mask was really the same as a normal Dragon Priest that she'd encountered several times before. The shape of the eyes, the nose, and even every little shape on the forehead was the same as a Dragon Priest, but...different. Apocrypha had altered it, there was no other way to interpret that. Whether intentional or not, Apocrypha changed him. Thousands and thousands of years alone, reading about the world moving on without you. Learning about someone taking your place as the beloved hero that you could have been. Learning about your world forgetting you, while the only thing you can think of is returning back to it.

__

And now, he was standing in the rain for the first time in thousands of years.

__

But he wasn't alone. She just stood at his side, studying the mask. She had been so enticed with returning home herself after missing it for less than a year, that she forgot what he must really be feeling. She wanted to see his reaction for her own enjoyment, almost out of spite. But the thought of what he must really been feeling, regardless of whether or not he would confide in her, made her heart break. And the mask she held was a reflection of him.

__

When he said her name, it made her eyes sting as they began to water. It sounded...pained, almost; his voice cracking in just the slightest. He had been looking to the sky, and he just now looked over the horizon. "I would have had to kill you," he said.

__

She listened. She waited.

__

Miraak took a breath. "I would have had to kill you in order to do this. Or I...thought I would have had to. It was foolish of me to be naive enough to think that even if I did make it back on my own, if my plan worked, Hermaeus would...," he trailed off, then looked to her. "There's no way that either of us could be free from him. What you did in order to save me was the wisest choice out of them all."

__

An eternity in Apocrypha would have indeed been the result for both of them, regardless of what happened. She wasn't a full Nord--only half, and wasn't going to be granted the afterlife of Sovngarde. She was no werewolf nor vampire and did not have a designated plane to return to after death. But she did the same thing Miraak did. Apocrypha would be her afterlife anyway.

__

He continued. "And with you, I suppose I should at least be... _considerate_ ," he said the word through his teeth. "That when that time comes, I won't be alone," he paused. "You've helped me feel rain again, Dragonborn."

__

The way he spoke was deliberate; he chose his words to make it appear that he was still the sole reason for these happening, that she was merely a help and not the reason. But it didn't bother her right now. She looked at him back, his dark eyes filled with the first glimpse of vulnerability she had ever seen from him. That was all she could ask for. She didn't say anything back as there was nothing to say, and she figured he didn't want her to anyway. She returned to the tent alone and stripped down from the soaking wet robe. She had only her armor and another loose robe to dress in, so she threw that on and crawled under the pelts again.

__

She was just barely awake when she heard him move into the tent again. He shuffled around, his robes absolutely soaked to the core. He paused and noticed her change of clothes, and admired the curve of her back and the way her hair flowed across the tent's floor. He hated his vulnerability, but hated it even more when she was a part of it. In an effort to warm both of them up and to reinstate himself, he stripped down as well and crawled in under the pelts behind her. He wrapped an arm around her waist, bringing her body closer and tighter against him. She had felt him get in the bed behind her, but the grip around her waist awakened her more.

__

She wiggled in his grip, peeking over her shoulder at him. He kissed up and down her neck, causing her to moan in more of a reply than anything. She scooted her rear against him, which is when she noticed that he had no clothes on. She took a breath and murmured lazily " _now_?"

__

He chuckled against her neck, the warmth of his breath sending a chill down her spine. "Now, if you wish," he replied, running his hand from her waist down her stomach, underneath the robes. He pulled the light, silky fabric off of her and let it drape down her back, revealing her hips, thighs and stomach to him. It was dark, but he could clearly see the light contours of her skin against what little light could be caught. He moved his hand lower, until he was kissing her neck and gently rubbing the insides of her thighs to coax them apart further. She arched her back, returning the gesture by grinding against his erection.

__

He let out a stifled moan, biting down on her neck and leaving a little love mark. He responded more by moving two of his fingers over her slit, gently rubbing in circles. Eventually he began to elicit the proper reactions from her; she began to moan, her voice sleepy and her movements slow. But she was wide awake, and feeling every little way he touched her and teased her. She nuzzled into the pillow when he slipped his fingers inside, beginning to work against just the right spot that sent her shaking and practically begging for him.

__

_"Zu'u lorfonaar hi lost lask daar, Dovahkiin?"_ he murmured in her neck.

__

She hissed at his words, but smiled. "That's not fair," she purred, her leg being held up with his other hand as he continued to work his fingers in her.

__

_ "Laas los ni paaz. .. baar." _

__

He pulled his fingers out of her to her disappointment, but they were soon replaced. He began to thrust into her deeply, tightly; savoring every little movement both of them made. He had her leg pinned between her side and his arm, spreading her open for his use. She would try and shut her legs when it felt too good, but he had her locked in place; resulting in her becoming a moaning mess incapable of moving or relieving herself in any way. She was his to use, his to claim, and it pushed her over the edge.

__

He murmured more purrs in her ear.

__

_"Pruzah...qiilak wah zey."_ he said, before he finished inside of her, each thrust spilling him deeper and deeper inside of her. He stayed where he was, gently kissing at her again and allowing her to kiss him deep on the lips. He pulled out of her and stayed there, both of them falling into a deep sleep.

__

Tomorrow, they hoped they would reach this safe haven. Then the work could really begin.

__

. . .

__

"You ever get them?" she asked. 

__

Miraak tilted his head in contemplation. "Mm...I used to. Not anymore, really." 

__

"What were they about?" 

__

He sighed, looking to her through the mask. She knew the stare: the _"You know I don't want to answer that"_ stare. But he did anyway. "Failure. Being killed. But Apocrypha mostly...turning into a Seeker, or something." 

__

She didn't know much about seekers, just their conception. It was an understandable fear, and an understandable thing to have nightmares about. She nodded, surprised he even told her. 

__

"And you?" he asked. 

__

She took a breath and hummed. "The _dark days_ that you mentioned, mostly," she said, with just a hint of a taunt. "Losing Parthurnaax or Odahviing." 

__

Miraak's twinge of guilt disappeared when she mentioned their names, and he laughed. "I forgot they were your pets. Who was the third? Durnehviir, yes?" 

__

She scoffed. "I'm sure you and Durnehviir have a thing or two in common," she said with a slight sneer. 

__

Miraak looked at her, that burning stare shooting through his mask. 

__

She knew not to go any further and just raised her eyebrows in contempt. 

__

It was the crack of dawn, both of them had awoken earlier from a deep sleep tangled with each other embarrassingly close. Sex was one thing, but affection didn't really seem like something Miraak was interested in. Or at least not something he cared showing, as it was likely just a result of his pride. 

__

Dawn in Riften. that had to be her favorite place in Skyrim. It seemed the warmest and most inviting; autumn was constant here. The trees bled yellow, orange and red and covered the green grass with warmth. The morning sun cast a golden hue over the land, the water turning into liquid bronze and the trees brighter than ever. The cobblestone path they were following--but not directly on--was covered in autumn leaves and winded through the aspen trees and over the hills. They were just about to pass Ivarstead, her favorite little town. The warmth of Riften combined with the neighboring of Parthurnaax and Odahviing was a delightful duo to her.

__

But she couldn't help but sneak Miraak around due to Odahviing's vigilant flight around the mountain next to them. She didn't know just how keen dragons were, but she was expecting Odahviing to be able to sense that she was home. Naturally, he'd want to speak with her, but when he saw Miraak...she didn't know how he would react. They made their quick stop and shuffled on.

__

Just past midday, they reached the cave that led to Dawnguard. Isran always scolded her for leading her horse inside the Dawnguard, but she wasn't about to leave it out here. She clicked her tongue and gestured for the horse to go into the cave, but Miraak stopped her.

__

Miraak looked around. "Impressive, I suppose," he said, watching his horse curiously sniff at one of a dozen dead vampires. "Even if a bit...overexcited," he said, nudging his chin up.

__

She hadn't noticed, but apparently Isran had put up some...decorations. Vampire heads and parts were strung above the cave entrance in triumph. A good warning, but also a good invitation. Maybe something happened while she was gone.

__

She looked at him and noticed how he just stood as if waiting for something. Waiting for confirmation, she assumed. He was a stranger brought into her home, and he clearly respected that. She shrugged. "Are you willing to kill any vampires you see on our journeys?"

__

Miraak hummed. "Unless they prove useful for something else."

__

She blinked. "Just say yes and Isran will like you. Come on."

__

She led him through the cave and once she got out of the canyon, she was shocked at how much had changed in just half a year. It had only been about seven months since she ventured to fight Miraak, clearly they got a lot done. Fortifications were now built all around the canyon, including pitfires, guard trolls and even little shacks dotted the canyon.

__

She heard her name cried out from above and turned to see Agmaer, a fellow Nord vampire hunter standing on one of the watch towers. "Is that you, truly? Thought you were killed by whatshisname!"

__

"Not yet!" she shouted back, glancing at Miraak while the two unboarded their horses and began walking on foot.

__

"We missed ya, I'll go get Serana! She'll be glad to see you're in one piece," Agmaer said, his voice as young and wavering as ever, bounding off from the tower and to Dawnguard.

__

She smiled at first, but then her heart sank past her stomach. She quickly looked to Miraak, who seemed unphased, but her fingers began shaking.

__

_**Shit**_. Serana.

__

Before she could even explain herself to Miraak, he was sent flying back by a bolt of lightning. He landed on the ground with a loud, painful thud and just barely evaded an ice spike from killing him.

__

" _You're_ here. _You're here_?" Serana shouted furiously through her teeth, her voice full of a rage she hadn't ever shown before. If someone could curse a person to death, Serana was doing it to Miraak.

__

Miraak was just barely evading her ice spikes and other magicka spells, with little time to move between each blast. He eventually managed to get his staff out and began retaliating with his own, equally powerful magicka.

__

But that wasn't exactly wise, as Serana just got even more furious. If she could turn into a vampire lord, she would. And by the way she was moving, she just might anyway. She kept trying to attack Miraak, to kill him, and Miraak fought back.

__

She didn't have any time to react and words were not going to calm them, so she just threw herself in between them. A tiny breton between a tall Imperial and an even taller Nord. But they both just shoved her out of the way. Whether or not it was because neither of them wanted to get her hurt or because they were at each others throat, she didn't know.

__

After regaining her balance, she watched them clash swords and spit curse words to each other. Miraak was trying to relieve Serana.

__

"I'm not here to hurt any of you," Miraak would say.

__

"But you tried to hurt _her_."

__

A pause. "I know, but I'm not--"

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_Clash_.

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But nothing swayed either of them. Eventually, the Dragonborn just cried out in frustration, and before she knew it, _FUS RO DAH._

__

Her two comrades were sent flying back from her shout, their attacks abruptly halting. Well, her placement wasn't perfect (or maybe it was), but it got the idea across; the shout sent them flying to the icy bank and into the freezing water. 

__

It gave her enough time to run over and stand at the shore while they both, shuddering and cursing, struggled to crawl out onto the ice. 

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"Serana, I'm sorry, I meant to send you a letter, I really did. But it's okay, a lot happened and he's not going to hurt us, I promise. Miraak, I'm sorry, I should have warned you."

__

_ "Nid draaf." _

__

" _Nid draaf,_ " Serana mocked, but before the Dragonborn could do anything, the two were at it again at Serana's insistence. Serana rose her sword and was about to bring it down on Miraak's back, but he saw it just in time to flip around so the blade hit the metal on his gauntlet. It rung, and couldn't have felt good, but it saved him. He, as a response, pulled his sword out and they were battling again. 

__

"Hey," she shouted. "Hey!" she said. "Seriously? I'm gonna do it again. I'm gonna do it." 

__

No response. 

__

_FUS RO DAH._

__

Into the freezing water again they flew, and she laughed at the sheer ridiculousness at them. As they began swimming to the shore, she said her piece. "If either of you pull this again, I'll just let you both kill yourselves. I did not rip my soul from my body or travel through a Daedric realm for you two to kill each other." 

__

Once they got out, their blades were at each others throats, but they were not swinging. They simply stood, defending one another and listening to the Dragonborn. 

__

"You really trust this guy? Do you not remember the frustration he cause you? The way he taunted you and stole your dragon souls for his own power? The way he sent cultists after you, mocked you, belittled you and enslaved people?" Serana hissed to her, eyes glowing more than usual. 

__

"What? I didn't send cultists," Miraak scoffed. 

__

Serana rolled her eyes. "And a _liar_?" 

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"Do not mistake my doings for Hermaeus Mora's. You and I have both dealt with Daedric Princes enough to know their folly, nightwalker."

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The Dragonborn opened her palms. "See? You two have something in common. Have tea over it. Get along. He hasn't killed me yet, Serana. If he wanted to he would do it by now, believe me there's...there's nothing to lose." 

__

Serana angrily removed her sword from Miraak's throat, running her fingers through her hair before stomping over to the Dragonborn. "I was worried about you for months. _Months_ I didn't hear from you. I traveled to Solstheim looking for you, but had to come back," she said, her eyes pained. "I thought he killed you. And you show up with him at your side..."

__

"I know," she said, putting her hands on Serana's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Serana. But I'm here. It's...a long story that I'll explain later, okay?" 

__

"What's going on here?" The gruff, familiar voice said quietly. 

__

They all turned to see Isran and several other Dawnguard fighters behind him, armed and ready. 

__

Serana scoffed, rubbing her temples. "I'll be back at the fortress. You have explaining to do," she said, swiftly striding away with clenched fists. 

__

She watched her friend leave and sighed, looking to Isran. "Nothing, it's fine. We have a...new recruit, though."

__

Isran murmured. "Thought it was a vampire attack...you, tentacle-guy. You kill vampires?" 

__

"...Yes."

__

"Welcome aboard, I'm sure our friend here will gladly explain how things work around here," Isran said, slapping Agmaer's chest when he thought Isran was referring to him. "Glad to have you back."

__

Then, again, it was just Miraak and her alone in the canyon. "Lovely meeting," she sighed. "Are you okay?" 

__

Miraak scoffed. "I'm fine," but he stormed off too. 

__

She called out to him just like she did Serana, but he didn't answer. She was left alone. That meeting could have gone better, and now both of her closest companions were angered with her. She followed him, but he clearly wanted to be left alone.

__

Throughout the day, it was far tenser than she wanted her return home to be. Serana would bitterly stare at Miraak across rooms as if she were plotting his assassination, and she very well may have been. "I read about him. What he did. He has to be killed," she told her.

__

Miraak wouldn't even talk to her, at least not in her language.

__

Isran was really the only one who seemed happy to see her, which for Isran meant a firm "You're back. Good. Now work."

__

Agmaer seemed a bit _too_ happy to have her back. She remembers when she first walked to Dawnguard and Agmaer chatted her ear off about how nervous he was. Ever since then he was a bit too fond of her.

__

For the rest of the day, she mostly consulted with Shadowmere; who resided in a new stable that the Dawnguard built. Shadowmere seemed happy enough to see her, nipping at her hair like hay and nodding up and down repeatedly.

__

Past dinner time, she finally sat down with Serana and had a long talk that lasted hours. They both explained everything that happened in the others absence, and emotions were kicked into high-drive. Serana, after the long, needed explanation, seemed much calmer. "I missed you. I'm glad you're back."

__

Miraak didn't really talk to her aside from one word answers, and an argument that was nothing new. She called him a manipulating, lying asshole, he accused her of stealing his life. She stormed off, he avoided her, his pride hurt by the event. He was out of place here, he wasn't in control; he was a guest that needed direction. This wasn't a safe haven, it was a break.

__

. . .

__

Past midnight, she knocked on the door that hid Miraak and opened it despite his protest. "Hey," she said.

__

Miraak grunted, his back turned to her. It was only now that she noticed the blade did actually cut his arm quite a bit; there were bloody bandages across the floor and the room had that same fuzzy feeling that occurred after a rigorous healing session. He seemed fine, and pulled his sleeve up when he saw her notice it.

__

But she pressed on into the room, unsure of what to say until it dawned on her. "Miraak," she said, walking over. She came up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Can I show you something?"

__

"I'm busy, Dragonborn."

__

She sighed. "Please," she said, running her hands over his chest and leaning against his back, her lips at his neck. "I promise you'll like it."

__

The cocktail of curiosity and seduction works on anyone. Miraak sighed, leaning his head over hers. "Make it quick."

__

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

__

He cocked a brow, but didn't answer.

__

She gestured for him to stand. "Follow me."

__

He tilted his head, hidden by his mask.

__

"It's fine, just trust me, please."

__

After he relaxed, she led him out of the room and up the winding staircase. Once they reached the top of the tower, she commanded him to close his eyes tight and no peeking. She opened the door and led him outside into the night, his eyes still closed; although it was behind the mask, and he may not have truly been complying. She had faith in him, though.

__

"Okay," she said, raising her hand and tilting his chin up toward the sky. "You can open them."

__

He did his best to stay unimpressed, but once he opened them he couldn't help but react. His jaw dropped and he exhaled sharply, his eyes scanning the sky above him. His hands were loose at his side, not a care in the world. The night sky was dark and clear, and full of twinkling stars that were scattered across the sky like dust. Ribbons of blue, purple and green ran across the sky. The clear night full of stars was one thing, but to see the Aurora Borealis in such bright, vivid colors after being locked away for so long...he had to feel something. He was entranced for a long time. Staring at the sky, seeing all these colors again for the first time. Seeing the natural stars, infinity beyond them. It was the opposite of Apocrypha.

__

His reaction told her that he did actually comply and close his eyes. After around ten minutes of sheer silence, she began to back away to give him peace. She hoped it was enough of an apology.

__

“Hey,” Miraak said, his voice calm.

__

Such a casual greeting was unusual, especially when it didn’t seem to be laced with arrogance or patronization. It was just a simple call out to her.

__

He gestured for her to come to his side, and she did. She looked back to him with an expression of genuine curiosity, blinking and waiting.

__

Such a simple reaction made him scoff, but not out of disapproval. She was...attractively curious when he allowed her to be. The thought crossed his mind knowingly, that when he was deliberately kind to her, she sincerely returned the favor. But, for a reason he couldn’t place, it bothered him that he thought this. When looking at it from a first glance, he saw it as a threat to his power. Submission, fear, compliance is what he wanted, and what he got. But, the lust for power could reach new heights should he allow her-- _encourage_ her--to utilize her full potential to help him. Yes...she could help him.

__

But then there was another creeping thought that he hated most out of them all--guilt. Thinking of manipulating her onto such a dangerous path also made him feel guilty. It came as soon as it went, but just her mere eyes alone led him to a new thought: _my plan could still work, I just need to change things._

__

She obviously caught onto his long pause and stare, because she cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

__

His thought process made him forget what he was originally going to say--but what he was originally going to say was a facade of something he really needed to, anyway. So he took a breath and swallowed a little bit of his pride. “Back on Solstheim I said something to you. That...your self-righteous desire to be the perfect hero is misplaced.”

__

The calm, honeyed tone of his voice rang alarm in her head, but she listened calmly and tried to not show a negative reaction. She just stayed silent and waited for him.

__

And suddenly he found his words tied around his tongue. He needed to be careful and cautious with how he approached this topic. “I didn’t intend for it to be an...insult,” he began, furrowing his brows as he contemplated his words.

__

His mastery of the art of speech has never been so non existent.

__

She blinked, and wanted to smile but knew that she would ruin it if she did. So she sat, calmly listening to his broken monologue.

__

He enjoyed her compliance and continued. “In fact, it’s necessary,” he said, pointing a gloved finger to her. “The lack of that good intention is what screwed me in the first place. You’re the… _” Dragonborn they needed,_ “You’re a different kind of Dragonborn. One that could utilize your power should you choose to do so.” He turned to face her and put his hands on her shoulders. “You have done great things,” he said, hissing the word great as if it were out of spite. “But there is still so, so much more you could do for yourself, for Skyrim...if you let me help you,” his hands slowly made their way from her fragile shoulders to her neck, his fingers intertwining with her hair.

__

“Help me...how?” she said, cocking her head slightly. She didn’t feel afraid in his grip. And she never truly did, aside from the first few encounters. There was something there she couldn’t place, and thought back to Parthurnaax’s words. Miraak's voice was still laced with that same patronizing manipulation. He was doing _something_.

__

Miraak paused, his expression unreadable behind the mask. “You said there was a war going on. Several. You are the Dragonborn, the greatest hero Skyrim could ask for and you think that you’re finished just because you’ve slain Alduin?” he said with a chuckle, although it wasn’t malicious, rather...admiring her simplicity. “And together,” he said, stroking her cheek. “You and I could turn Skyrim into whatever we wanted it to be,” he said.

__

Her tense, unsure expression told him that she was onto him. She and him had very different ideals for Skyrim.

__

So he comforted her. “We’re both going to die eventually, and then we’re stuck with each other for an eternity whether we like it or not. We may as well work together here to build Skyrim into what it needs to be. Stop the civil war, stop the Forsworn, liberate what needs to be, rid this place of any threat.”

__

She couldn’t help but smile a little bit at his sincerity. His tone was much more calm, casual and overall kind. “You’re onto something, Dragonborn,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

__

“Not what I’d like to be on,” he purred.

__

She leaned into his hand, which was holding her jaw firmly but gently. With his voice and the way words effortlessly slid off of his tongue, he could probably get her to do whatever he goddamn wanted. A thought she hated to admit, but not when she felt a need for him rising.

__

“You slaid Alduin in what may as well have been cold blood without a second thought. You knew he was a threat and you traveled to the land of the dead--not even _your_ dead--in order to do so. Your care for Skyrim outrivals your hatred for me,” he said. He gently squeezed her jaw, his voice adopting that same purr. “Not only were you reluctant to kill me, you refused to. And happily bartered for an eternity with me.”

__

She hummed, blinking slowly. “It doesn’t mean I still don’t want to,” she said with a playful tone, gently shoving her palm against his chest.

__

He grabbed her palm and held her wrist firmly. “The feeling is mutual.”

__

“You sound like you have a plan, then,” she said. She noticed how she often mirrored his tone, intentional or not. But he seemed to take great joy in it.

__

He took his mask off, letting it fall to the ground next to him. “You and I are the two most powerful people here, love. If anybody can shape Skyrim’s will, it is us. And I’d rather have you at my side in doing so. It’d be a shame to rid myself of such a pretty face,” he said.

__

He did have a point. As he always did. Her duty wasn’t fulfilled until she purged Skyrim of every threat out there, even if she slayed Alduin. And an eternity in Apocrypha? She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she died and lived again knowing there was more she could have done to help Skyrim. And he was right. Miraak was the only person in Skyrim who’s power rivaled hers, and he had spent _thousands_ of years learning how to harness it when she’s only known she was Dovahkiin for _six_ years. She could let him teach her things she probably desperately needed to know. Shouts, magic, combat skills, stealth, speech. And should he turn against her, then she has the upperhand here. Three dragons at her side, assassins should she need, the Dawnguard, jarls and soldiers, her own skills. Topped with what he could teach her, should he try and devour Skyrim she will just devour him before he could try.

__

But then of course, she was a dragon at heart. A dragon at the side of a goddamn leviathan; her innate lust for power was tempting, especially standing next to someone that bled power. Combined with his, she could even turn Skyrim into whatever she wanted it to be for her--regardless of how good it’d be for Skyrim. After all, she was going to Apocrypha anyway…

__

It was as if Miraak could read her thoughts, and it wouldn’t surprise her if he could. His expression followed her every thought like he knew she was being tempted by both him and her lust for power. He gave her jaw another tight grip. “All in due time,” he said before returning his hands to her shoulders and turning her around, pressing his body against her.

__

He looked up to the sky, the ribbons of color still dancing around like water. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck, his hands beginning to loosen her dress. “I have different plans for right now.”

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ambedo; n. a kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—briefly soaking in the experience of being alive, an act that is done purely for its own sake.
> 
> Nunon vogaan zos javbar: Just a few more minutes...  
> Smahlu: Sheep  
> Zu'u lorfonaar hi lost lask daar, Dovahkiin?: I suppose you have earned this, Dragonborn?  
> Laas los ni paaz...baar.: Life isn't fair...clearly.  
> Pruzah...qiilak wah zey.: Good...submit to me.  
> Nid draaf: No shit.
> 
> Like I said, if you want to see more PLEASE suggest things. Tell me where you think I should carry the story or give me prompts and I will likely consider them! Message me if you wish.


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